


Endings and Beginnings

by futurevampiress



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Locations, Anixety, Arguments, Avengers Compound, Avengers Tower, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Bombs, Bucky Barnes's Trigger Words, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, F/M, Flirting, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Insecurity, Los Angeles, Missions, Modified Information, NYC, New York City, Night Terrors, OUE Skyspace, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Revenge, Shenanigans, Slow Build, T'challa - Freeform, Technology lessons, Toronto, Wakanda, dance, kpop, photographer!reader, workouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2018-11-19 04:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 215,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11305767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futurevampiress/pseuds/futurevampiress
Summary: You’re just an ordinary 25-year-old photographer working in a small studio in downtown Toronto. Your life is as normal as it could possibly be, except the fact that you are given an opportunity most people only dream of.





	1. Recruitment

“Okay, now can you lift your head a little, and tilt it slightly to your right? Yes, that’s good right there! Rembrandt lighting looks the best on you!”

Another day, another early morning shoot. Getting up at 6am isn’t exactly easy on a pair of 25-year-old eyes, but it’s gotta be done if you want to keep your job. And with a job comes sacrifices, like getting a decent amount of sleep and less time to look presentable for the day. If worse comes to worse, then some simple black jeans and a t-shirt will do just fine. Being a photographer in a small yet popular studio called “Framed Studios” in downtown Toronto has its perks, including dressing like a homeless person, since you’re not the one being photographed. It is still important to dress nicely, but the higher-ups really couldn’t care less; they just want to make sure their studios are comfortable and clean for the clients.

Your studio is clean for the most part, with a small clutter here and there. Nothing to worry about, though. The only real danger is all the cords from the lights running along the floor, despite being securely taped accordingly. Being the newest member to the team, only having been working there for six months, your studio is the smallest of them all, but it’s doable. There’s no windows, but the studio lighting is all that’s needed for people and indoor still-life. Your assistants, Enrique “Nico” Aldrez and Danielle “Dani” Jones, were given to you for multiple purposes, including holding fill lights and reflectors, positioning the model properly, wardrobe changes, and the like. They have more responsibilities outside of the studio, but it’s not really any of your concern.

The only thing you’re concerned with right now is getting the last few shots to end this three-hour shoot. You always put music on and make the client smile as much as you can in such a cramped space, and it seems to work every time. You make small talk with them to fill the silence, explaining what you’re doing with your camera and why your assistants are positioning the lights the way they are. Making chit chat about photography jargon can ease some of their nerves and make them more relaxed while sitting in a chair for a long time. Whether or not they understand what you’re saying, their shoulders visibly relax and a smile creeps on their face. It makes you feel reassured as well, because it feels like you’re doing your job right.

“Dani, can you position the lights for a 5-to-1 ratio please? I’ll get the kicker light. We’re almost finished, Miss Lang. You’ll be out of here in no time.”

You set your camera down carefully on the lighting stand and maneuver your way around the studio to roll the kicker light behind the client and to the left. You plug it into the power box and position it just right, the dim glow subtly accentuating the back of her hair.

“A kicker light is a backlight that tries to separate the foreground subject from the background,” you explain to your client. “It’s pretty easy already because of your beautiful blonde hair, but it’s necessary when using ratios. Nico, how’s the fill light?”

Nico raises the light stand higher and fixes the umbrella before clapping his hands together and going back to his original spot.

“All good,” he says. He looks over at Dani, already done her part and adding a small amount of powder to the client’s face. She looks up when she sees you and Nico staring at her.

“Uhhh. The lights are all good. Miss Lang just requested some more makeup before she leaves,” Dani says, her nose scrunched up in confusion.

Dani was always the fastest with setting up the studio and getting things ready. Faster than Nico and you combined. You had your camera and laptop to set up, and Nico with the wardrobe. But Dani… she always seemed to run circles around Nico and you, zooming all over the place, her heels clacking against the marble floor at a steady pace. By the time you and Nico were done with your responsibilities, Dani was already waiting, her arms crossed and her foot tapping on the floor with a neutral expression on her face. She was also in charge of makeup, so until Nico and you were ready to go, she was always left waiting in the dust to move on to her next duty. She can be sarcastic and snarky at times, but she’s an amazing makeup artist, and an essential part to the team.

Getting back on track, you nod your head and motion Dani to stand on the sidelines with Nico while you finish up the shoot. It takes no more than ten minutes, and after all is said and done, your client leaves smiling and joyful, which is what you want to see after every session. Your next appointment isn’t until one o’clock, so you can go back to your apartment to change and get some early lunch.

“Great job today guys,” you say. “As per usual.”

“No problem, _______,” Nico says.

“Always aim to please,” Dani adds.

You give them a friendly smile, and begin to pack up your things. The studio can stay as is, since the next session is similar to the one you just did. Dani and Nico begin packing up too, but first turn on the ceiling lights before turning off the studio lights. You remove any other potential hazards before packing up your camera and laptop in your bag and heading out the studio door, locking it securely, Dani and Nico following after you.

* * *

Another good thing about “Framed Studios” is that it’s relatively close to your apartment. A couple blocks, give or take. No train, no car, not even a bike is needed to get to work. Walking is definitely the way to go. It’s an overcast day, but no forecast of raining or thunderstorms. Overcast is the best because the sun is still out, but it’s not blinding you in the face whenever you look up. Toronto is littered with people, and no matter who looks friendly or not, you always keep your guard up. No matter where you go, there’s always people lurking in alleyways, even during the day. Alleys provide privacy, which invites conflict. You try to stay away from them, but since they’re everywhere, it’s kind of hard not to.

There are no incidents or complications on your way back from work, and you greet the bellhop with a friendly hello before waiting for the elevator. You live on the seventh floor with your roommate, Maeve Lockette, a student currently enrolled at the Ontario College of Art and Design (OCAD). She’s on the messier side when it comes to apartment cleanliness, specifically her room. She does help out around the place though, but probably not as much as you’d like.

The front hall is clean when you unlock the door, but once you get to the kitchen you hold back a groan. There’s a pile of dishes in the sink and there’s chocolate _everywhere_. Maeve has been baking again. She doesn’t notice you come in, completely lost in her own cooking world.

You toss your bag on the living room couch and lean against the back, crossing your arms and giving her a stern look. She only looks at you when she puts the trays in the oven and sets the timer.

“_______! I wasn’t expecting you home so early!” she says.

You roll your eyes and quietly sigh.

“The shooting went well. Dani and Nico are efficient as always,” you reply. “I have a few hours before the next one. Thought I’d clean myself up and get something to eat. I see you’re pretty hungry too,” you add, nodding your head towards the kitchen mess.

“Ahhh yeaaah,” she laughs awkwardly. “I’ll clean up when I’m done. Promise.”

“Mhmmm.”

You take out your laptop and camera, setting it on the coffee table. You hear Maeve beginning to clean up, so you busy yourself by opening up Lightroom and disconnecting yourself from the world for a while by listening to music as you edit your photos.

About an hour later, you’ve grown tired of editing almost 200 photos, and decide to take a break. Maeve finished cleaning up half an hour ago, and her cupcakes have since cooled down. The smell makes you even hungrier. You look over your shoulder, and see them sitting on the counter, vanilla icing decorating them. Your mouth waters at the sight, and you wonder if you could have one. Maeve is in the shower after getting chocolate all over herself. But Maeve being Maeve, nothing would get by her when food is involved. She knows when her food’s been touched or moved, or if someone ate something of hers. You know you can’t get away with it, so you wait until she’s done showering to ask for one.

In the meantime, you change into something more comfortable. Black chachi pants with green zippers, a simple black tank top with a black pullover, with the same shoes. Maeve usually does your makeup because she does it better. Well, Dani does it the best because it’s her job, but Maeve is still better than you. Winged eyeliner is a bitch.

You immediately call for Maeve when she steps out of the shower.

“Maeeeve! Come do my makeuuuuuup!”

“Gimme a sec!” she yells back. “I literally just stepped out of the shower. Calm your shit.”

You go to your room and retrieve your small makeup kit and set it out on the table for Maeve, and sit cross-legged on the couch, waiting expectantly. You give her a big, welcoming smile when she emerges with a towel wrapped around her head. You pat the seat in front of you and she rolls her eyes as she takes your offer. She sighs and looks down at the palette, then back up at you.

“Whadaya want today?” she asks blandly.

“Something soft and pretty,” you reply.

“Same as yesterday. And the day before that. And all the other days since I met you. Nice. Beautiful.”

Despite her annoyed attitude, you know it’s fake. You can almost tell every time she’s actually annoyed or angry. She would clench her jaw and crack her knuckles periodically like she was getting ready to fight someone. You would stay clear of her, knowing that saying the wrong thing would set her off. But right now? It’s completely faux annoyance. You try not to smile as she does your eyeliner, otherwise your eyes will crinkle.

“You’re gonna have to learn to do this yourself,” she says after a moment of silence. “I can’t be there in your moment of need when you want eyeliner done.”

You blow your lips.

“I’ll get Dani to do it then if she’s with me,” you answer.

“Always a second option, huh?”

“Obviously.”

Next comes highlighting and contouring. You don’t like a lot of it, mostly because your face feels gross and you’ll have to use at least five cleansing wipes to get it all off. She dusts some blush on your cheeks and carefully outlines your lips with red lipstick before filling it in.

“You can do your own mascara,” she says. “Don’t wanna go poking your eye like I did last time.”

You shiver at the memory.

“My tears were black and everyone in the lunch room freaked out,” you whine. “They thought I was possessed.”

“Well when you’re crying black tears it’s hard not to think something weird’s going on.”

“Something weird’s always going on.”

“Yeah. With your whole… _situation_.”

You got your powers about four months ago, after being accidentally hit with a flash of white light some an unknown source after encountering an alleyway fight. You had simply been at the wrong place at the wrong time. You never had any powers before, so you being you, you looked up what could’ve happened to you on that afternoon. After researching for about an hour, you found a page explaining something called “Potential Creation”. According to the site, Potential Creation is the power to awaken abilities within oneself and others. The user can “unlock” previously nonexistent abilities within themselves and other, that develop and bloom at various paces and to extends, depending on each receiver. The power you’re given is neither chosen nor random: the potential created takes shape according to each receiver’s specific nature and personality. After reading that particular bit, you weren’t very surprised about the power you were given. It was very fitting indeed.

Maeve is the only one who knows, since she’s very stealthy and sneaky. She’s like a mother: nothing suspicious gets by her. She noticed that you were jumpier and distracted on days where you were usually focused as ever while editing photos. Eventually she had enough of your 180-degree personality change, so she confronted you about it. Unable to lie under her scrutinizing gaze, you told her what happened with a heavy heart. At first she was skeptical and confused, so you had to show her your power to prove you weren’t lying. Her smiling and excited face wasn’t exactly what you were expecting. She was more thrilled than you were about it. It would take some getting used to, but you enjoyed her enthusiasm. It made you feel a little better about yourself. Since it was so recently, you still need practice with it. And because you have no one to turn to to learn how to properly use it, you’re on your own. You aren’t a self-taught photographer, but maybe it’d be different this time around.

After your face has been painted to perfection, you give Maeve a soft pat on the cheek and a humble thank you before gathering your things, pinning some of your hair back, grabbing a cupcake, and skipping out the door to grab some lunch.

It doesn’t matter what time you go. Starbucks is always packed morning, day, and night. All you wanted to do was get a Frappuccino, some cookies, and a cake pop. You wait in line for about fifteen minutes before placing your order and snagging a small table by the window. You unpack your laptop again and plug in your headphones as you pick up where you left off. Being in a crowded place where you know no one will bother you gives you a strange sense of calm. Despite not liking school some days, you still felt secure being around so many people. Your social skills are flourishing with anxiety, so talking to new people isn’t exactly easy for you. Even becoming best friends with Maeve was a tough feat. You mucked up the courage to talk to her during an assignment where you had to go looking for a person you’ve never met and take their photo. You chose her because she looked safe. She was pretty, but not the intimidating kind of pretty. More like the soft, gentle, won’t-yell-at-you kind of pretty. And that was comforting. She already had some friends, but she was very friendly and let you into her life. You shared some common interests, and also differences. But they were good differences. Opposites attract, right? If she was willing to share an apartment with you, you knew you and her would be a great mix.

You can see people in front of your laptop and in your peripherals. You were always afraid that someone, someday, would approach you for an unknown reason and start talking. It was always a possibility. You never know what might happen. And that scares you a little. Your heart beat picks up the pace when you see someone approaching you, but they pass you completely to greet their friend behind you. You close your eyes and take small breaths to calm yourself.

“Hooooo okay. You’re fine. You’re fine.”

Talking to yourself isn’t a bad thing. In fact, it’s a healthy thing to do, according to UberFacts on Twitter. After whispering comforting things to yourself, you get back to work, mouthing the words to “Fire” by BTS.

You’re enjoying your time, smiling away because music makes you so happy, when suddenly a woman in navy jeans and a beige faux-fur coat sits down in front of you. Your jaw drops a little when you look up and see who it is. She starts speaking, but you can’t hear her because the music’s too loud. You go to iTunes and pause the song, and hold your earphones in your hand as you continue staring at the infamous Natasha Romanoff.

You try to speak, but nothing comes out. You just have an incredulous look on your face, because _holy fuck this is Black Widow sitting across from you_. You can’t even react when she steals your cake pop and takes a bite into it. She sets it back down when she makes a face.

“Sweet things never really agreed with my taste buds,” she says. You look at the abandoned sweet then back to Natasha. She’s licking her teeth and still making a sour face from eating the Starbucks’ candy. You gather what strength you have and clear your throat.

“I-I’m sorry, but… What? Hi? Hello? What uh… Why are you–“

“You could say I’m here on vacation,” she interrupts, stopping your rambling.

“Y-You’re on a Starbucks vacation? In Canada?” you ask nervously, laughing quietly in disbelief.

“Well. I do have some other business to attend to,” she clarifies.

“And that would beee?”

“Recruitment.”

“Recruitment?”

She smiles kindly and nods her head. You plug one earphone back in and resume your music.

“I don’t know why you’d be looking here,” you say, slowly editing your current photo. “There’s no one here with the capabilities you’re looking for.”

“Oh?” she quips. She bends down your laptop screen so she can look at you in the eyes. Your fingers are hovering over the keys, your eyes locked onto hers. She carefully pulls your laptop away, taking your earphones with her. She turns it around, and smiles again.

“You’re good,” she compliments. “I could never figure out how the photographer got their photos to look so professional and beautiful.”

“What do you want?”

She flicks her eyes to you before typing away on your laptop. When she’s found what she’s looking for, she turns the screen back to you. It’s a YouTube video. Specifically, one of you using your power. Your heartbeat quickens in your chest uncomfortably, and you cross your arms, leaning back on your chair as you continue to watch it. The video is dated three days ago, with nearly eight million views.

You gaze up at her. She looks expectant now, like you’re willing to tell her everything about yourself. Instead, you act like it’s not you.

“What’s so special about this video?” you ask.

“That’s you,” she says without question. You shake your head.

“Their face is covered. You can’t prove that’s me.”

She nods her head in agreement, but you can practically see the gears turning in her mind.

“Maybe, maybe not,” she finally says. “But there are other ways of identifying people.”

Well. That doesn’t make you nervous at all. Not wanting to know those other methods, you sigh and fold your fingers under your chin and stare her down.

“Fine. Say it is me in the video. What do you want with me?”

“I told you, didn’t I?” she says, closing the laptop completely and pushing it back to you. “Recruitment.”

“For the Avengers?”

“I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

You sit back in your chair and shake your head, looking at the floor. You couldn’t believe it. Here sits Natasha Romanoff, aka Black Widow, asking you to be part of the Avengers team. Just what the hell is she thinking? You can’t just up and leave your home and job to be with these people. But… Would it be so bad? You’re a long-distance fighter, so your combat skills wouldn’t be needed. If so, you’d probably be trained anyhow. Plus, meeting Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff, Vision, Clint Barton, Sam Wilson, and possibly Thor and Bruce Banner wouldn’t be so bad. It’d be exciting, really. But there were still things to consider.

How would Maeve react? Surely she’d have a normal reaction, like being freaked out and worried. But the chances of that are slim. Maeve would be over the moon about you joining the Avengers than you yourself. Hopefully she’d be at least a little worried about you going. You don’t want to leave her by herself, but she has other friends. She can manage.

Another factor is money. Where would you get the money to go out and buy things for yourself? Like food and more clothes. Tony Stark certainly wouldn’t provide you with that… Would he? He already gave MIT students grant money to fund their projects; maybe, possibly, he could give you a couple bucks here and there once in a while? You have money yourself, but it’s for rent and HoA fees. You can’t leave Maeve struggling to pay everything by herself; it’d be too unfair. You’re a little ambivalent about leaving your photography job for a new, more dangerous one. What would you say to Dani and Nick? To your boss? That’s something to think about.

One last priority is your identity. Do you want people to know who you are if you join the Avengers? You could always cover your face like you usually do when you’re helping out around the city. The Avengers themselves would have to know your identity for trust reasons, but the rest of the world? You don’t know if you’re ready for that.

You can still see Natasha looking at you as you continue staring at the floor, all these thoughts flying around in your head. She seems very patient, and probably negotiable. You could set down some terms if you were to agree.

You’ve made your decision. You sit up straight in your seat and clear your throat. Natasha is at attention and awaits your answer.

“ _If_ I were to join you, I would need a few things secure first of all,” you state.

“Such as?”

“My identity is to be concealed during missions. I don’t need people coming after people I know.”

“That sounds completely reasonable.”

“And I may need some help paying for rent here. I can’t leave my roommate hanging by a thread.”

“We can work something out.”

“As for my job here… I don’t know what to say to them about me leaving.”

“We already have an explanation for your absence.”

“Of course you do… Well. Other than those things, I think I’m set. I’ll have to tell my roommate the truth, though. She knows everything that goes on already, so might as well be straightforward for once.”

Natasha smiles and stands up, waiting for you to do the same.

“What? Right now? I can’t leave right now! I still have another photoshoot to do! Plus, I need to pack all my shit and whatever.”

“Don’t worry. Everything is taken care of.”

“Excuse me? Don’t tell me you already snuck into my house and packed all my things for me.”

Natasha doesn’t answer. She just motions for you to pack your laptop and walk with her. You sigh loudly and roll your eyes as you put away your things and follow Natasha out of Starbucks and back to work.

* * *

Natasha wasn’t kidding. She really did have a plan for you. She went over it with you down to the last detail, but you were skeptical about one thing.

“Aren’t you afraid that my boss will know who you are?” you ask. “You guys aren’t very subtle about your identities. Plus, the events in New York, Sokovia, and the like are things that the news is plastered with. We know all about it.”

Natasha keeps walking, not even looking nervous about the situation. She reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out a face synthetic.

“That’s why I brought this,” she says simply.

You nod and say “oooh”, like it should’ve been the most obvious thing in the world.

“Leave it to Black Widow to be prepared for anything.”

“Not everything.”

You don’t get a chance to ask her what she means when you arrive at Framed Studios. She expertly puts on her fake face, making her look like a completely different person. You can’t stop staring at her as you walk up to your boss’ office, and snap out of it when you remember her office is all windows. You haven’t spotted Dani or Nico yet, but they should be here soon. They can’t know the truth. It’d be too risky letting too many people know why you’re actually leaving. You pray that Maeve will keep her mouth shut when you tell her.

You nervously knock on your boss’ door, and she motions for you to come in without looking up from her desk. You and Natasha approach her, and wait for her to acknowledge you two. You dig your fingernails into each other, and bite the inside of your cheeks. Your heart races, but you have trust–well, more like _faith_ –in Natasha. She’s a professional. She won’t fuck up so easily.

When your boss finally puts her pen down and looks up at you two, your heart nearly stops. No matter how many times you look at her, she’ll always be pretty. And you envy her a bit for it. She’s the showstopper: the kind that turns heads when she walks into a room. Your throat closes up a little from being anxious, and your voice cracks when you speak.

“Mrs. Zhang, this is, uh–“

Natasha is quicker than you and smiles as she extends her hand.

“Yulia Zarkofski. We spoke on the phone earlier today regarding _______’s new placement.”

Not only did Natasha save your sorry ass, but she did it in a Russian accent. Leave it to her to project everything perfectly. You narrow your eyes at her briefly after being impressed by her accent, wondering why she called in already.

_She must’ve known I’d say yes. How cocky._

Focusing on the situation at hand, you play along with what “Yulia” has to say and react accordingly to the news. It seems that “Yulia” and Mrs. Zhang do all the talking, hardly acknowledging your presence. And that is completely fine with you. The less you say, the more likely things are going to go smoothly. Nevertheless, you still listen to what they’re saying, keeping those thoughts in your mind.

“She would be doing workshops with beginners and show them the ropes. The rate of pay is fairly decent, and she would be working thirty hours a week. It’s a great opportunity for a skilled photographer like herself to expand her horizons and have experience with teaching, if she ever thinks of it in the future.”

Mrs. Zhang swivels side to side in her chair, arms crossed with a smile on her face. She looks between “Yulia” and you, and after a moment of silence, she leans forward on her desk and nods.

“I think it’d be great for her as well,” she responds, Chinese accent hanging behind. “I’m completely fine with it. It’s just up to _______ if she wants to take the offer.”

They both turn to look at you, and even though you know the real reason why you’re leaving, you can’t help but feel a little timid when answering.

“I’d love to,” you finally say, a shy smile creeping on your face.

“Then it’s settled!” Mrs. Zhang declares. “_______, you will leave for Los Angeles today. Kate will take over your photoshoot today, and we will find a replacement for you while you’re away indefinitely.”

Mrs. Zhang seems a little too cheerful about you leaving the company, but you shrug off her optimistic attitude and shake her hand as you and “Yulia” take your leave. You have nothing to clear out from your studio, since it all belongs to the company. You do, however, have to say goodbye to two people. Natasha takes off her face synthetic when she walks outside, tucking back in her pocket.

“You coming?”

You look up and down the street, thankful that Dani and Nico haven’t shown up yet. You begin to walk back inside.

“I gotta say goodbye to my friends first. You can go to my place. I assume you already know where it is? Since you seemed to know that I was in Starbucks earlier.”

“That was by chance,” she corrects. But she doesn’t answer your question about knowing where you live, since she’s already walking away.

“Pffft. Typical.”

You step back inside and go to your studio, waiting for Dani and Nico patiently. The nagging thought in your mind at the moment is what Maeve is going to think when she sees Black Widow upon her doorstep. Most likely more excitement and questions. Possibly helping her pack your things. A lot of prying. No different than when she meets new and thrilling people. You groan at the thought when Dani and Nico walk in.

“Whoa, didn’t know we weren’t wanted here,” Nico jokes upon hearing your displeasure.

You wave him off and stand up to hug them both, despite them both holding coffee cups.

“Guys, I’m going to L.A. Today. In like, an hour, give or take.”

They both blink slowly, processing your words, before the confusion and yelling starts.

“Excuse me?!”

“What?!”

“Why are you going there? To take pictures of all the hot people at the beach?”

“Don’t leave me here with a replacemeeeent. Or Nico.”

“Shut up, Brownie.”

“Brownie? What the fuck is that? Some type of new racist name?”

“No, it’s because you buy a lot of brownies, Brownie.”

“Well then you’re ‘plaidy’ because you wear too goddamn much of it.”

“Hey, plaid is the best look on me.”

“Hellooooo. Clap clap. Are ya done being dopes yet?”

They mumble a pathetic “sorry” and navigate themselves back to the original conversation. Dani speaks up first.

“So. Los Angeles, huh? What’re you gonna do over there?”

“Workshops with like, high school kids. Teach ‘em all about photography and whatnot.”

“But you’re a terrible teacher.”

“Wow, thanks a lot, Hipster.”

Nico sticks his tongue out at you.

“Just because plaid is my signature look and I wear square glasses and beanies doesn’t make me a hipster.”

Dani and you exchange a look.

“Yeah it does,” you say in unison.

Nico sighs and has a chat with himself while you and Dani continue yours.

“Yeah, Los Angeles,” you say. “It actually sounds pretty cool. I just hope the kids aren’t little brats like they were back when I was in high school. Otherwise I won’t have any patience with them.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fiiine,” Dani says. “Besides, if they ever get out of line, you can do whatever you want. Within reason, obviously. We don’t wanna hear that you got arrested because you slapped a kid for being an idiot or something.”

You gasp in surprise.

“ _Dani_ ,” you start, feigning being hurt. “How dare you think so lowly of me. But, you’re right. I wouldn’t hit them, but I would imagine it all day once I give them their work.”

Dani laughs, and you know that you’re gonna miss her. She was the first to warm up to you when you first started working at Framed Studios and she was appointed as your makeup artist. She was very friendly and you quickly warmed up to you. Nico, on the other hand, was a little tougher. He’s very picky with clothing, so your style and his sort of clashed whenever a client requested something flashy or trendy. Since Nico is in charge of wardrobe, he usually got what he wanted with a smug smile on his face, but you never failed to put your opinion in, even as a friendly gesture. But you were going to miss his opinionated hipster self.

“Oi, Nico. You done arguing with yourself? I want a hug before I go.”

Nico stop rambling on and on about nothing and approaches you with a sincere smile. He gives you a big hug, and you playfully pull his beanie down over his face when he pulls away.

“Meanie,” he says as he takes a sip of his drink, not bothering to fix his hat.

“Hipster.”

There’s a moment of silence, somewhat awkward, but comforting nonetheless. Dani and Nico were going to suffer through a replacement, and you were going to suffer through… whatever the hell comes your way. Feeling a little emotional, you pull them into another group hug, but this time tighter.

“I’m gonna miss you guys, goddamn,” you say. “I hope the people helping me over there are just as good as you.”

Nico squeezes you and Dani rubs your back, the both of them nodding in agreement.

“Same here,” Nico says. “I’ll be damned if we get another person like Dani around here. One is enough.”

Dani smacks the upside of his head.

“Shut up, you loser hipster.”

You laugh at their bitterness towards each other, which will only make you miss them more. If this is how you are with two coworkers, you imagine how it will be with your roomy and best friend. You pull away before any of you start crying, and clap your hands together. Nico finally pushes his beanie out of the way, and Dani smiles at you.

“Wish me luck guys.”

You wave at them as you walk out of the studio, giving it a final goodbye before heading back to your apartment.

* * *

You are in complete shock when you get home to find that yes, Natasha knew exactly where you lived, and that your bags have already been packed and set at the door. Your jaw hangs open as you look at Natasha and Maeve idly chatting in the kitchen. You walk in, words getting caught in your throat. The both of them are about to greet you when you dash to your room. Everything is gone. The drawers and closet have been swiped clean. Even your things in the bathroom have been grabbed and packed. You go back to the kitchen, and speak before either of them can say anything.

“I know I should be surprised, but I’m not,” you say. “You really did know where I lived, and you actually packed all my shit within such little time. From now on, I’ll just expect more amazing things from you.”

Natasha smiles sheepishly, while Maeve glares at you.

“Hey, I helped too y’know,” she says.

You sigh loudly and shake your head as you approach them. You place your hands apart on the island, and smack your lips together. You look between Maeve and Natasha, wondering what to say.

“Well. Shall we get going then?”

Natasha stands up and straightens her coat as she heads to the door. Guess that answers that. Maeve looks dejected, so you round the island and wrap your arms around her tightly.

“Y’know I love you, right? I’ll send you updates about what’s going on and still snap you and stuff. I’ll definitely send you pictures of all of them, if they’re willing. I won’t leave you out of the loop. I promise.”

“Yeah, you better,” Maeve agrees, not even sounding upset at all. “Just, be careful, yeah? I don’t wanna see you on the news because you royally fucked up and got yourself killed.”

“Pffft. With the training I’ll get, that’ll probably never happen. Well, as long as I don’t act so carefree, that is.”

Maeve is the one to pull away first and squish your cheeks together.

“Now. Go and kick some ass. Send me videos of anything. I guess I’ll see it on the news if something big happens, so there’s that. But most importantly, update me on how you’re doing. Daily emotional reports or whatever.”

“Mm. I promise.”

Maeve can’t hide her smile, because she’s really excited for you to have this opportunity. Which opportunity she thinks you have, you don’t know. You’ll have to clarify that with Natasha when you’re on the plane. Or whatever she took to get here. You pick up your bags on the floor, and give Maeve one last smile and wave before saying goodbye to your old life, and hello to your new one.

* * *

Natasha wanted to be discreet, so she flew to Toronto on a private jet instead of a quinjet. It was a surreal thing, boarding the plane under such secrecy. It was thrilling, to say the least. No one questioned you about anything, letting Natasha do everything that needed to be done. The inside of the jet was remotely similar to the one you always see on _Criminal Minds_. The random thought makes you smile, happy that something on TV is actually true. Natasha remained silent the whole way to the airport, but she was a little chattier when the jet starts moving onto the runway.

“First time flyer?”

“On a private jet, yeah,” you reply, staring out the window. “Only been on a real plane once, though. Went to Florida a few years back. Took a few hours, but it was nice.”

“Well, not to brag, but this jet will get there in half the time.”

“Mm. Comforting.”

After that, there wasn’t much talking because you flew off into your own little world when you listened to your music.

You felt like you were being a little rude to Natasha by not talking to her, but she didn’t seem to mind at all. She sits back in her seat and pulls out her own laptop, and types away. You wonder about what she’s doing on there, and you’re reminded of your parents doing the same thing. Jokingly looking over your shoulder when you were working on something. It bothered you because it was annoying, and also felt the need to hide what you were doing even though you weren’t doing anything suspicious. You didn’t have anything to hide, and yet, you felt violated. You still do sometimes whenever someone does it. It’s not at all comforting.

More important things, like meeting the Avengers and their first impression of you, now floods your mind. You bounce your leg as you think about it. You’ve seen the footage of all of them fighting, but that’s it. You don’t know what they’re _really_ like in person. That’s a whole different story. Black Widow fights like the assassin she is, and she’s calculating and precise in person. She’s a true professional, thinking of everything, every possibility that could go wrong or right during a risky situation. She’s everything you hoped to be.

As for the other Avengers… They all have their own Wikipedia page, even if it’s a small one. Steve, Tony, Bruce, Clint, Thor, Sam, Wanda, and even Vision. They all have one, including news footage of themselves fighting all over the world. The one in D.C. was a weird one though, since it was just three flying aircrafts shooting at each other. You don’t really know what happened there. You thought a person named the Winter Soldier was mentioned in the article, but you’re not 100% sure. That’s something you’re gonna have to check.

Your thoughts get so jumbled that you miss your favourite song. You play it back, and give it the enjoyment of deserves. It takes about 6 hours to get to L.A., and Natasha said it’d take half that time with the jet. Might as well have a three-hour nap. You kick off your shoes and bring your feet up on the seat, lean your head against the window and close your eyes.

* * *

It’s around five o'clock when you wake up. Your neck is stiff from sleeping in an awkward position, and you make a pained face as you sit up to correct yourself. You stretch your arms over your head and yawn, taking out your earphones and pausing your music. Natasha comes out from the bathroom and sits across from you.

“Have a nice sleep?” she asks.

You groan in displeasure before answering.

“More or less.”

You keep moving your neck in circles, trying to find a comfortable position for your head. Natasha absentmindedly looks out the window and starts talking.

“So what’s with all the black?” she asks, motioning to your outfit of the day. You look down at yourself, and shrug.

“Dunno. Black goes with anything, including black, so why the hell not? I look fine in it, so that’s good too I guess.”

You reach in your carry-on bag and pull out a plain, black mask and loop it around your ears. Natasha raises an eyebrow, and doesn’t need to question you about it. Her look is question enough.

“I wear this when I’m using my powers, okay? Keeps my face hidden.”

“Can you breathe with it?”

You give a noncommittal hand waver.

“When I’m from a distance, yes. But if I have to move around or run, it gets a little constricting.”

Natasha nods and crosses her arms and leg.

“Guess we’ll have to get Tony to make you something more suitable,” she suggests. You widen your eyes slightly, wondering if she’s serious.

“You’re joking. You don’t have to make him do that,” you say.

“If you’re going to be a part of this team, you’re going to need all the goodies and toys.”

“If you say so. By the way, which truth did you tell Maeve when you got there?”

She smiles and laughs quietly.

“The real truth. She’s a very energetic girl. I usually don’t get reactions like hers when I tell someone complicated news like yours. It was… Refreshing.”

“That’s Maeve for you…”

There’s another silence before you look at the time on your phone again.

“How much longer?”

“Any minute now.”

You nod and put your phone and earphones away in your bag, and lean against the window. It’s much brighter in L.A., but there’s still some clouds. All you see are rows upon rows of green fields, until you reach the coastline. Or a couple kilometers from it. Your heart races as you set your eyes on the Avengers compound. There’s a bright, orange, expensive looking car in the driveway. And a motorcycle.

_Wonder who’s those are._

You get more nervous but excited when the jet lands on a landing strip to the side of the compound, beside a forest of trees. The compound disappears from your view and you take a breath when the plane finally settles.

“Ready?” Natasha asks as she stands up.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Natasha takes your answer and helps you with your luggage. The first thing you smell as you step off the plane is freshly cut grass, and pine trees. It’s a calming scent, easily settling your nerves. You realize how big the compound actually is when you can see it overtop of the trees. Your shoulders droop because of the weight of your backpack, but you suck it up and bear with it as you drag along your two other bags, while Natasha strolls along with your suitcase. You’re a little peeved that that’s the only thing she took, but you shouldn’t complain so early on. Definitely not a good impression.

As you’re walking in the driveway, you see that the orange car belongs to Tony Stark, as per his license plate. The motorcycle is still a mystery, though. You stay back for a second as Natasha continues on, and stops at the doors when she sees you’re not following suit.

“Cold feet already?”

You shake your head.

“No, I’m just… Taking it all in, I guess.”

You can’t believe that in a few seconds, you’re about to enter a whole new world. A world with very different people and risky situations. Now that you think about it, you wouldn’t give up this opportunity for mostly anything. Being able to work with the Avengers is a privilege, and taking their photos would be even better. But training, practice, and getting along with everyone comes first. Everything else set aside, those are your top priorities.

You take one last deep breath before following Natasha inside, bracing yourself for your new life.


	2. The Avengers

The main entryway is large and clean as a whistle. There’s light blue marble floors, and floor-to-ceiling windows all around. You stare in awe, nearly running into Natasha. You mumble a pathetic “sorry” because you’re so focused on your surroundings. The amount of cleanliness that goes into this place is spectacular. Even the ceilings–

“Welcome back, Miss Romanoff.”

Your heart jumps at the sudden voice coming out of nowhere. You look around, but don’t see anyone.

“Good to be back, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” Natasha replies.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” you echo. “What’s that?”

“One of Stark’s A.I. systems,” she says. “J.A.R.V.I.S. was his first one, but now he’s a being called ‘Vision’. I’ll explain that later. F.R.I.D.A.Y., please alert everyone that our new recruit has arrived.”

“Right away, Miss Romanoff.”

It took you a second to realize that “A.I.” meant “artificial intelligence”, and when you did, you were a little worried.

_Artificial intelligence? Is she everywhere then? Can she hear and see everything? Christ. This is gonna be interesting._

Natasha starts strolling away again, and you jog to keep up with her. You step into an elevator and go to the main floor. Natasha gives you a play-by-play about what’s on each floor, and you’re only half-paying attention. You’re too mesmerized by what you see.

“–and sub-basement level one is comprised of our private infirmary and biological and chemic research facilities. Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho work on their projects in that room occasionally. It’s–are you listening?”

You snap your head towards her after observing the giant living room and kitchen. Someone really liked marble. You nod your head, despite not hearing what she was rambling on about. She sighs lowly and shakes her head, but changes the subject.

“Anyway, none of that is important. Your room is this way, down the hall.”

You look to where she’s pointing, and the hall seems to go on forever. You blink a few times because of the stretching effect, and begin walking with her. You peek inside rooms that have their doors open, noticing their cleanliness and little knacks on the shelves and dressers. You stop being nosy when you reach your own room.

It’s a decent size, bigger than the one in your apartment. There’s one big window on the right wall, and a queen sized bed settled against the left wall. Two dressers are set at the end of the room, a glass desk is right beside the TV hooked up to the wall, and an en suite is at the opposite end of the room. You toss your bags on the bed and nod in approval.

“Is this to your taste?” Natasha asks.

“It’s great,” you reply honestly. “Thanks.”

“All part of the package,” Natasha says.

“Miss Romanoff. Everyone has gathered in the living area for Miss _______’s arrival.”

“We’ll be right out.”

Your eyes widen as you look around the ceiling, wondering where the hell F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice is coming from. Aside from that, you’re also wondering how the hell she knows your name.

_Natasha probably told her. Obviously. Stop freaking out, dumbass._

You crack your knuckles anxiously, preparing yourself for meeting the rest of the Avengers. It shouldn’t go so bad, should it? Say a quick hello, tell them about yourself, and get on with your day. Seems simple enough. Unless something happens, of course. But it won’t happen. Nothing will happen. Not yet anyway.

You lead the way this time, since it’s literally right down the hall. You put on a brave face, even though your eyes are only visible. It’s good to be confident either way. Head up, strides long, chest out. You can see Steve’s Dorito back, and you nearly have a panic attack.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fu–_

You round the corner to come face-to-face with Steve Rogers, aka Captain America, Wanda Maximoff, aka Scarlet Witch, Sam Wilson, aka Falcon, and the Gestalt Mind known as Vision. All who’s missing is Dr. Bruce Banner, aka The Hulk, Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye, Tony Stark, aka Iron Man, and Thor. Four people is definitely enough for this first meeting of the Avengers. Everyone turns and looks at you, giving you friendly smiles. You’re too nervous to speak, so Natasha does it for you when she sees your panicked eyes.

“Everyone, this is _______ __________. Our newest recruit.”

“H-Hey, everyone,” you stammer.

Steve, being the gentleman he is, walks up to you first and extends his hand.

“Nice to meet you, _______. I’m Steve Rogers,” he says.

“I-I know. I. I mean. Yes. Nice to meet you, Steve.” Friendly.

_Is it okay to call him Steve? Does he want to be called Captain or Cap or something like that? Dear Jesus this is already too hard._

Next up is Sam.

“Hey _______, I’m Sam. They call me ‘Falcon’ ‘round here,” he says. Very Friendly.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you smile.

Wanda.

“I’m Wanda Maximoff. Nice to meet you, _______.” Right. The Sokovian one. Very nice accent.

“Likewise.”

It’s a little strange to see Vision wearing a sweater vest and dress pants, but you ignore it as he greets you.

“It’s nice to have another addition to the family.” Very British.

“I’m happy to be a part of it.”

After the meeting and greeting, you stand with your hands behind your back and try to look anywhere but at everyone. They all exchange looks with each other and yourself, wondering what to say next. As always, Natasha is the one to speak up.

“_______ is an asset to this team now. I hope that no one will break her in too hardly. She’s still new, along with her power.”

“And what power is that?” Vision asks.

You smile widely, even though they can’t see it, and explain yourself.

“To start things off, a few months ago I’m pretty sure I was hit by someone who had the power of Potential Creation. Basically, whenever someone gets hit by one of their attacks, they unlock a power hidden inside them. When I got hit, I was gifted with pyrokinesis.”

“Pyrokinesis?” Steve repeats. “What’s that?”

“It’s–“

“The ability to create, control, and manipulate fire, flame and heat.”

You all turn your heads in direction of the new person who just walked in. Tony Stark, aka Iron Man.

“Tony, has nice of you to join us for _______’s arrival,” Natasha smiles.

You’ll have to keep my guard up around Tony. He’s the selfish, do-it-for-myself kind of guy. Well, at least, that’s how he seemed when he was Iron Man. When he’s with the Avengers, he doesn’t act the same. The videos show him cooperating with everyone, but you guess in those situations, you kind of have to band together to defeat an alien army and save a floating country from destroying the world. Still, you can never be too cautious.

Tony’s dress wear is casual enough, sporting navy jeans and a Black Sabbath T-shirt. He’s eating peanuts from the bag, and looking relaxed.

_Okay. Play it safe._

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Stark,” you say.

He gives you a quick smile with a mouthful of peanuts and goes back to surveying the room. Not know what else to say, you continue with your explanation.

“As Mr. Stark said, pyrokinesis is the ability to create, control, and manipulate fire, flame, and heat. I’ve only had this for a few months, so I still haven’t really… ‘Upgraded’ yet, so to say.”

“Upgraded to what?” Tony asks.

“While it’s true that pyrokinetics can create fire, I can’t yet. The source has to be there for me to be able to control it. I haven’t worked my way up yet.”

“So, in other words, you can only wave fire around like a sparkler?” Tony asks curiously.

“Tony,” Steve warns.

You narrow your eyes at Tony. Sarcastic and snarky. Your lips twitch into a smile, because you love sarcastic and snarky people, just like yourself.

“More or less,” you say with a grin. “I have a sense of control around it. So far I’ve only put out store fires and one unfortunate apartment fire on the twelfth floor.”

“So how’re you doing it?” Tony asks, popping another handful of peanuts into his mouth. “Magically using your own fire to put the other one out?”

“Can’t fight fire with fire, Mr. Stark,” you quip. “I take control of the heat and power of the fire and gradually bring it down. If I do it too quickly, I could hurt others or myself.”

“How so?” Wanda adds.

You turn to Wanda with a much friendlier smile, even though she can’t see it.

“If I go too fast, I could bring the whole building down and potentially harm anyone around it. As for myself… The heat from the fire comes too close, no matter how far away I am from it, and it burn my hands. Only had that happen once. I don’t plan on doing it again.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” Vision questions. You shrug.

“Practice my control. Get heat resistant clothing. Learn to make fire myself to be immune to it. Something along those lines.”

“Well,” Tony starts, finishing off his peanuts and tossing the bag on the kitchen counter, “looks like you’ve got a long way to go, kid.”

“I’m twenty-five,” you snap. “But I guess anyone is a kid to you, with the way you’re going.”

He mockingly gasps and feigns being hurt.

“You should be saying that about Cap,” he says, gesturing to Steve. You give Steve a once-over before answering.

“He doesn’t look a day over thirty,” you say. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

Everyone has their own little reaction to your comeback, which makes you smile. Tony makes a face, and decides he’s had enough.

“First of all, I’ve accomplished more in ten years than you have in your entire life,” he begins. “Second, I don’t trust people who cover their face like they’re some sort of wannabe ninja.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, but you take your mask off anyhow. No one really reacts; they all still look at you and each other. You put it back on when you feel Tony’s been satisfied.

“There. Happy now, grandpa?”

You expect Tony to freak out and maybe send another insult or two at you, or list off the number of accomplishments he’s made in his life, but instead, he smiles and chuckles. He shakes his finger as he points at you.

"I like this one,” he says. “Got lots of spunk and attitude.”

Well there’s a milestone in your life. You made Tony Stark like you. That’s definitely something to mention to Maeve. You keep that in mind along with everyone else’s impressions of you. Tony takes a step forward and crosses his arms.

“Okay hot-head. Show us what you got.”

You nearly snort because you’re excited to show them your power. You shove your hands in your pockets, stroking your thumb along the metal lighter you always carry with you. You take it out of your pocket and flick it open, sliding your thumb on the fuel lever. A small flame emits from the end, and you take your other hand out of your pocket. By only concentrating a little, you have the flame hovering in the palm of your hand. You put the lighter away and spread your fingers, making the flame grow into a small sphere. You smile as you look at it, watching the small sparks fly all around it. Since it’s only from a small source of power, you can’t feel any of the heat from it. But once you make it grow 10x its size, things could get a little tricky. To entertain everyone, you use both your hands to carefully maneuver it around all their heads, telling them to keep still. The looks on their faces almost makes you lose your concentration, but you pay attention long enough to bring it back to you and dissipate it. You wipe your hands on your jeans and stand with a proud smile on your face.

“That’s it?”

The sound of Tony’s disproving voice makes your eye twitch. You turn your gaze on him again.

“I can do more than that,” you retort. “Unless you want this compound burned to the ground, which I’m sure you don’t. You can just go look at the footage again. You’ve probably all seen it from the A.I. system.”

Without even thinking about it, Tony takes out his phone, taps it in the air, and out pops some video from YouTube about the apartment fire in hologram form. The video doesn’t show you; instead, it shows the fire slowly decreasing in size until it’s completely gone out. Everyone seems to know that the firemen didn’t put the fire out that quickly, with all the gasps and shouts of people not within the view of the camera. A video from a different angle shows the same thing, and another with a closer view of the fire. But the last one Tony shows, is of you. You didn’t want to be seen using your power, so you went on the roof of one of the buildings beside the apartments. The person filming is from across the street, and zooms the camera in on you. It’s low quality, so everything is quite pixelated. Your face is covered like it always is, so no one would know who you are anyway. You don’t know that you’re being filmed, and once you’ve done your job, you quickly dash back down the rooftop stairs, and blend in with the rest of the crowd.

You blink after staring at the videos, and because of Tony’s advanced technology. His phone is like a hologram altogether. It’s amazing, really. A phone like that would certainly turn heads back home. Coming back down to earth, you see that everyone’s waiting for a reaction form you. You don’t really have one to give.

“What? Yeah. It’s me. Obviously I didn’t know someone actually saw me. Big deal. I don’t care.”

You never saw that video on the news, so it must not have that many views. Which is a little suspicious, since something like that would go viral in no time. You have a feeling Tony did something, or the video got taken down and he saved it before it got deleted. You’ll definitely have to look out for Tony in the future. There’s no telling what he can do. Besides from what you’ve seen, it’s good to keep your guard up around  _everyone_.

“Okay. I’ve lost interest. Goodbye everybody,” Tony says, turning around and giving a pathetic wave. “_______, come get me when you’re ready to show me something worth watching.

“Call me when your ego’s gone!” you shout back. No response.

“Tough luck on that one, kid,” Sam says, smiling as he looks at the floor. “That won’t be happening any time soon.”

“I never would have guessed,” you say. “And if he ever gets on my bad side, I’ll roast him.”

“A sight we’d all like to see,” he jokes.

“I wouldn’t,” Vision says seriously.

You had completely forgotten that he was there because he hadn’t spoken in the last while. He’s the most mysterious one, since he was created in a weird way. A way you don’t know yet. You don’t want to be too forward or offend him, if he  _can_  be offended, but you’re too curious. You eye the gem in his forehead as you ask him how he was created. Yet again, Natasha answers for you.

“Back when Ultron was off to destroy the human race, he wanted to evolve into something bigger. Dr. Helen Cho is the creator of the Regeneration Cradle, a medical device that can heal wounds by grafting a simulacrum of organic tissue to the patient and having it bond to the patient’s cells. Ultron uploaded a part of himself to the Cradle to a synthetic body, and the rest was filled in what was left of J.A.R.V.I.S. when he tried to stop him. With the help of that gem and vibranium, Vision was created.”

You hardly understood what the Cradle was, but other than that you pieced together what Natasha said. You needed a clarification first.

“Who’s J.A.R.V.I.S.?”

“Stark’s first artificial intelligence system.”

“Okay so… Vision was created by the minds of Ultron and J.A.R.V.I.S., then?”

“Yes.”

“Ohhh. Okay. So he’s a Gestalt Mind.”

“A Gestalt Mind?” Sam echoes.

“Yeah. It’s when the user possesses a mind that was made from, or composed of two or more other minds. It can be fragments of minds, or even whole ones.”

Blank stares.

“Have none of you explored the depths of the internet? That shit is full of mind-blowing things.”

Steve keeps himself together when you swear, but everyone knows how he’s feeling. Natasha smirks at him and Wanda smiles knowingly. You don’t get what they’re smiling about. At first you think they’re thinking of something they saw on the internet that was entertaining, but Wanda speaks up.

“Steve doesn’t like bad language,” she says with a grin. Steve sighs and shakes his head as he looks at the ground.

“You guys are never letting that go, huh?”

“Not really.”

“Don’t sorry, Steve. I’ll be sure to tone down my language around you.”

He gives you an appreciative smile. “Thank you, _______.” You nod you hand and clap your hands together.

“Well, it was nice meeting you all. Ummm. I think I’ll just go finish unpacking now.” You smile and take your leave without another word. You softly close your door and let out a shaky breath, completely overwhelmed with everything.

“Wow. That wasn’t intimidating at all… At least Tony likes me.”

You leave your door unlocked, just in case someone wants to come in and talk with you more. You hope not. Not at the moment, anyway. Now, you just want some time to yourself; time to think and process what a going to happen. They all seemed impressed by your power, despite how little you show of it. Tony still needs some persuading, but everyone else it okay with it. Or scared. Maybe making a fireball float around their heads isn’t exactly the best way to show your power, but it’s over and done with now. Let’s just leave it at that. You’ll get the chance to prove yourself soon enough.

You sit on your bed and stretch your legs, absentmindedly looking around the room. It’s a lot to take in, but over time it should be easier. Sighing, you turn to your suitcase and begin to unpack.

* * *

It takes about an hour and a half to get settled into your new room. Clothes are neatly put away in the drawers and closet, your bathroom is now equipped with cleaning essentials, all your electronics are plugged in and charging, and your shoes are neatly placed by the door. You’re a little sweaty after all that, so you contemplate on whether to shower, or begin training. Training means more sweat, but a better shower. Making a decision, you strip down and put on your workout clothes—a splatter print sports bra with matching capris—and leave your mask on. You tie your hair up and grab your phone and Bluetooth speaker. When you exit your room, you realize you don’t know where to go.

“Shit… F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Yes, Miss _______?”

“Can you lead me to an empty training room?”

“Of course.”

You end up going to the second floor, where all the good stuff is. An Olympic sized swimming pool, a giant library, pinball, pool, and all the other good shit a mansion needs. F.R.I.D.A.Y. leads you to an empty training room as promised. There’s a floor-to-ceiling window for a wall when you walk in, and the rest are covered by mirrors. You set your speaker on the ground and turn on your Bluetooth on your phone.

“Miss _______. I have a dock system built into this room. Would you like to use it?”

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’S voice scares the shit out of you and you clutch your chest.

“Goddammit, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” you whisper. “Yes, that would be great.”

A small, square hole opens up in the wall, and a dock for your phone appears. You walk over and place your phone in it, then unlock it to go to your playlist. Might as well get warmed up with a little dancing.

Once you’ve fixed your hair and tightened your shoes, you press play and go to the centre of the room.

“불타오르네.”

You choose songs that are loud, upbeat, and have a lot of movements. It’s easy to dance to songs that already have a set choreography. Even more so when you actually enjoy dancing to them. After the first song comes another, then another, then another. Soon enough your chest is heaving, your heart is on fire, and your muscles are screaming. You know those things, but what you don’t know is that the mirror in front of you is a two-way mirror. Everyone from the outside can see you on the inside. So far, only Sam has seen you. And Sam being Sam, he’s going to either tell Steve, or no one at all. He knows you’d probably be embarrassed if anyone found out, you he’ll keep it to himself this time.

After about 40 minutes of dancing, you pause your music to take a breather. You’re suffocating with your mask on, but you power through it to get used to the feeling. Unless Tony is willing to make you something better, you’ll have to deal with breathing in polyester.

You stand by the window with your hands on your hips, gazing down into the back of the compound. There’s the forest of trees, and a landing pad for helicopters. You rest your forehead against the cool glass, sighing as goosebumps rise on your arms. You smile about having a drink of your water, then curse when you realize you didn’t bring any with you.

“Dammit.”

You decide to leave your phone and speaker there, having faith that no one will take it. You have a good enough memory to remember how to get back to the kitchen. Go right, straight, right again to the elevator, go to the main floor, take a left, go right, straight down the hall and you’re there.

No one’s in the kitchen, so you make a beeline for the fridge. Your eyes search until they land on the water bottles hidden in the bottom drawer. You take off your mask and struggle a bit getting the cap off. But once you do, you chug the water down like your life depended on it. You breathe heavily through your nose, eyes closed, and head tilted back. You slam the bottle on the counter to catch your breath. You hold your heaving chest, and chug down another gulp-full.

“Training hard?”

Steve’s sudden voice makes you choke on your water. You cough hard enough to produce tears, and pound your chest as you try to swallow the rest. You drink some more water to wash it down, and wipe your face as you look at Steve, who has a worried look on his face.

“You okay?” he asks with arms out. You nod and wave him off.

“Y-Yeah,” you say breathlessly. “You just surprised me is all.” You take one more sip to make sure your airway is unblocked, and sigh when it goes straight down your throat. You lean on the counter facing Steve, giving him a smile.

“You sure seem to workout a lot,” you say with a straight face. His t-shirt is soaked down the front and his hair is a sweaty mess. He looks down at himself and smiles.

“I do,” he agrees. “Best way to blow off steam.”

“I hear that,” you say. The mention of steam makes you giggle quietly to yourself, thinking of all the possible puns related to fire. Steve rounds the counter and goes to the fridge to get himself a drink, and you can’t help but stare at his backside. You raise an eyebrow and keep your snort quiet when you look at his Dorito body.

You look away when he turns around, and instead sit on top of the counter, idly taking small sips of what’s left of your water. An awkward silence hangs in the air as Steve and yourself loiter in the kitchen, hydrating yourselves. A lot of thoughts run through your mind as you think about Steve’s story, and how he became a part of the Avengers. You basically know everything because of what the internet gave you: he was the first avenger after he was given the super soldier serum from Dr. Abraham Erskine; he stopped HYDRA on numerous occasions, he crashed into the ocean, and woke up 70 years later after being frozen in the Atlantic. He missed out on so much, but now he has the opportunity to experience those that he missed. What he can, anyway.

You finish your water bottle and set it on the counter, kicking your feet. You want to ask Steve so much, but there’s only so much you can ask. You don’t want to offend him or bring up bad memories; most likely though, those memories are always present. Like the one about his best friend, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes who supposedly died while on a mission with him, but was captured by HYDRA and turned into the Winter Soldier. That is definitely a subject you don’t want to touch. Instead, you go for something more mundane.

“What about you? Training hard or hardly training?” Repeating his own question. Nice. He looks up and chuckles.

“Training hard,” he says honestly. One of his perfect qualities, among many.

“I can tell,” you agree, eyeing his body again. He smiles and takes another sip of his orange juice. You decide to push a little farther. “Not to be too nosy or anything, but how does it feel having the body you have now? Do you feel… Lighter? More energetic?” He sets his juice down and crosses his arms, looking down at the floor.

“It is very different,” he begins, a small smile creeping up the more he thinks about his pre-serum self. “I’ve had it for years, but I feel like I’m still getting used to it. It’s much easier to run and I’m a lot stronger than what I used to be.”

“Well. I think you were always a strong person in my opinion,” you add. “Strength isn’t always based on muscle mass.” He looks at you surprised. You shrug. “I read about you online. Not everything is a secret on the internet, so… Sorry if that’s a little weird. But I’ve read a bunch of great things about you, Steve. I know there’s always more to a person’s story than what you see and read about, but I won’t ask about that. Everyone deserves a sense of privacy.”

“Thank you,” he smiles. “That’s really kind of you.”

“No problem. And I’m sorry about all the unfortunate things that happened to you. I know I have no right to say it because I don’t know anything, but nonetheless.”

His smile falls just a little, and moves his gaze to the countertop. He nods his head in appreciation. You nod too, then jump off the counter. You pat his shoulder and flash him a big smile.

“See you later, Dorito.”

You skip out of the room back to the training room, leaving Steve standing with a confused look on his face at his new nickname.

* * *

When you get back to the training room, you decide to do a little meditation and cooling down. You close the door and sit in front of the window, crossing your legs and putting your hands in the Gyan Mudra position on your knees. You straighten your back and take a deep breath, closing your eyes.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“Yes, miss _______?”

“Can you play the playlist called ‘Concentration’ on my phone, please?”

“Certainly.”

In a matter of seconds, F.R.I.D.A.Y. starts your playlist, and a calming instrumental begins playing. You started meditating two weeks after you got your power. You read online that concentration is the best way to practice for anything. You found that meditation made it easier to manipulate a candle flame, including its size and shape. Understanding energy was also a huge help, thanks to the internet of course. It’s always filled with helpful ideas when it comes to inhuman powers.

It took a lot of time to get used to your concentration routine, constantly doing it whenever you got the chance. Being a photographer is time-consuming with photo shoots, editing, printing, selling, and deadlines. Some hot yoga was okay at times, but meditation was the thing for you. Relaxing in an empty room, everything quiet except for the faint sound of your playlist playing in your ears. Maeve knew not to disturb you during those times, which was very appreciated. She knew that anything could happen if you were disturbed. She already made that mistake when you accidentally burned part of her dresser after your focus was broken. Luckily, an incident like that didn’t happen again.

This time around, you’re not using a candle flame to harness your power. You’re just basking in the silence and peacefulness of the training room, with a calm, soothing symphonies from Beethoven, Mozart, Tchaikovsky, Bach, and Chopin. They’re not really quiet, since the orchestras are loud, but it eases you either way. Some are familiar, some are not. You could fall asleep to the sound of classical music. And binaural beats, and anything really that has a soft, low sound to it. But the one instrumental that you can’t help but smile and feel epic at is Lux Aeterna. Six minutes of pure genius, it never fails to make your heart beat speed up, your mouth twitch into a smile, and leave you in a state of awe as musical frission flows through your body and tingles the tips of your fingers.

Your meditation takes up two hours of your time, leaving your backside sore and asleep, but it’s worth it. You’re completely relaxed, your mind clear, and your body limp like a noodle. The sun is beginning to set when your session is over, and quite frankly, you’re hungry as hell. You lay down on your back and stretch your arms and legs, sighing in satisfaction when your back cracks. You swing yourself forward and stand up, grabbing your phone and dejected speaker before walking out of the training room and back down to the main floor.

When you go to enter your room, you smell something delicious. You open your door and toss your electronics on your bed before waltzing into the kitchen. Vision and Wanda are in the kitchen, smiling and preparing something that’s making your mouth water. They lift their heads up when you appear, eyeing your peculiar state.

“Miss _______,” Vision starts. “We haven’t seen you in hours. You look exhausted.” You’re a little distracting by what’s stirring in the pot to hear Vision clearly, but after going through it in your head, you muster up your answer.

“Oh. I was uhhh, training,” you say, eyes still locked on the pot. “I have a set routine, so it takes a while. What is this?”

Wanda smiles and adds a spice before stirring the mixture.

“It’s paprikash,” she says. “Chicken paprikash, actually.”

“It smells awesome,” you say, licking your lips. Your stomach feels a little strange, having not eaten all day, so you hold it comfortingly. That doesn’t go unnoticed by Vision and Wanda. They smile at each other as Wanda keeps adding spices.

“We have an extra chicken breast,” she says, making your eyes widen at the pot. “You’re welcome to have it.”

You look up at her like she was the ultimate saviour. “A-Are you sure? Isn’t it for someone else? I can make something for myself! It’s no problem really.”

She shakes her head. “Really. You can have it. I have a feeling Tony has already eaten.” You smile and nod in appreciation. Looking down at yourself, you have an “oh” moment. “Um. I think I’ll go freshen up before eating. I’ll be back soon.”

You skip out of the kitchen back to your room, quickly stepping out of your workout clothes and jumping into the shower.

About twenty minutes later, you emerge feeling like a new person, excitingly touching your skin and face because of how smooth and non-sweaty they are now. You dress yourself in something loose and comfortable, and give your hair a quick shake of your towel and tie it up in a bun to dry. You wander back to the kitchen where Wanda and Vision already have dinner on the table and are ready to eat. The food still has steam rising, so you’re not too late.

“Welcome back, miss _______,” Vision greets you.

“You don’t have to add the ‘miss’ on my name, Vision,” you chuckle. “Just _______ is fine.” You sit down at the end of the table, a little away from them. You smile as you look down at your chicken paprikash, twiddling your fork and knife in your hands. “This looks great, you guys. Thanks for letting me eat with you.”

“You’re welcome,” Wanda smiles.

You cut into the tender chicken, more steam rising and more saliva pooling in your mouth. You make a groan of satisfaction when you finally eat a piece. “And tastes even better.” You notice Vision doesn’t have a plate in front of him. “Vision, aren’t you having any?”

He shakes his head. “I haven’t really eaten anything before. Quite frankly, I don’t need to. I’m synthetic, so I don’t need to do mundane things to survive. The gem absorbs ambient solar energy to provide the needed power for me to function.”

“Ahhh, okay. Well, it tastes delicious either way.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

The three of you dine in silence, some of it a little awkward. You don’t really have anything to talk about, besides learning about each other. You know that not everything would be a happy conversation; you don’t want to walk on eggshells around everyone, constantly afraid that you might make things unnecessarily tense and uncomfortable. So you plan your questions, thinking carefully before saying them. You’ll start out simple and safe, as always.

“So, Wanda,” you begin, treading carefully. “How did you become part of the Avengers?”

Wanda was about to take another bite, but she stops, fork hanging in the air in front of her mouth. She sets it down and smiles sadly. You’re worried you just stepped on a land mine, and are about to apologize and tell her not to worry about it, when she answers.

“I was against the Avengers at first,” she begins. “My parents were killed by one of Stark’s weapons. My brother Pietro and I waited two days for him to kill us when one of his bombs came through our ceiling. We volunteered to be experimented on after that. That’s how I got my powers. We were dead set on destroying the Avengers, but when I looked into Ultron’s mind and saw he was planning global extinction… I couldn’t let that happen. Long story short, my brother was killed during the Sokovia incident, and I traded sides.”

Your mouth was hanging open from the start. First her parents were killed, and then her brother, and her home eradicated. You regret saying anything. You set your fork down and stare at your plate.

_You need to stop being nosy._

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. “I shouldn’t’ve asked.”

To your surprise, Wanda simply smiles and continues eating.

“I cannot change what has already happened,” she says. “It’s best just to move on.”

You’re losing your appetite. You know everyone here has a backstory and you want to know more, but sometimes prying isn’t always a good thing. It makes you angry at yourself for asking, but also depressed because their stories are depressing. They’ve grown into more than what they were, righting their wrongs, making amends, and protecting society. But no matter how much good they do, no matter how happy they may appear, their sadness and haunting memories will always be with them.

Feeling a little too emotional for your liking, you stand up, taking your plate and utensils. Your sudden action makes Vision and Wanda look at you curiously. You give them a sheepish smile and curl your toes.

“I think I’m going to eat in my room,” you say quietly. “It’s not you two, it’s just me being… me, I guess. Thanks again for this.”

You leave without another word, Vision and Wanda exchanging worried glances at each other. You feel like an idiot as you retreat to your room, feeling dumb and weird.

“Dumbass. You don’t just up and do something like that. Now they’re gonna think you’re weird and unstable.”

You sigh as you close your door, and silently finish your meal as the sun goes down. You push your plate away and stand up to go sit on the windowsill, resting your head on your knees. You dig your fingernails into each other, a nervous twitch you do when you feel anxious. You bite your bottom lip as you think about Steve’s and Wanda’s sad expressions after you asked them about their lives. Your insensitivity triggered bad memories, and you don’t want to do that again. You don’t need, nor want to ask Tony about what he’s gone through. Natasha is very secretive, so she’s out of the question. Sam seems safe, but it’s best not to do anything. And Vision wouldn’t even have anything to talk about. The Avengers that are not present, Clint Barton, Dr. Bruce Banner, and Thor are a little out of reach, but you already know that you wouldn’t question them about anything. Thor has had his own battles in Asgard, Dr. Bruce Banner is definitely not a person to ask the wrong questions to, and Clint Barton… is a little of a mystery. He seems the most grounded, despite not knowing much about him. Nevertheless, no questions asked, you wouldn’t interrogate any of them.

Climbing down from the window and back onto your bed, you set your plate on the dresser before sliding under the covers. It’s still early, only around eight o’clock, but you’re exhausted from training and reminding people of their past. You don’t know if you have the mental stability to be with these people, but then again… do  _they_? The thought comforts you, having something in common with all of them easing some uncomfortable feelings. It’s not going to be easy, but you’re willing to work every inch of your body until you’ve gained their trust, and prove your worth to this team. Shifting in your bed, you close your eyes and let out one last sigh before falling asleep within the hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse my use of KPOP songs in this. I literally can’t not include them if I have a chance to use music at any given time. It’s going to be used in future chapters.
> 
> I wanna clear up a few things. This is post Age of Ultron, and pre-Civil War. So Thor, Bruce, and Clint are not going to be a part of this story unless I decide otherwise. I have the compound set in L.A. because that’s what I read on the Marvel Universe wiki page. Stark Tower is still in New York, so nothing’s changed there.
> 
> I want to get some background information settled and make this as… realistic, as possible? I don’t want to jump into things from the start, so please, bear with me, and I hope you enjoy!


	3. The Smithsonian

It’s almost been a month since you were invited to be part of the Avengers team. After the initial surprise to your arrival, the Avengers have taking a liking to you. Your sarcastic and witty responses easily got you on Tony’s good side. You quickly–rather,  _tried_  to move quickly–past the awkward conversations with Steve, Wanda, and Vision. It’s going to be in the back of your mind for forever, but they got over it faster than you did. And that’s all that matters.

You haven’t been on any missions yet. So far, you’ve just been training with Wanda and Natasha. Wanda gives you tips on long-range attacks, while Natasha does combat training with you if you ever found yourself in that situation. Steve, Sam, Tony, and Vision are usually the ones who are out most often. Tony goes back to Stark Tower in New York to work on new ideas or to see Pepper. Steve and Sam are the dynamic duo on missions, bringing along Wanda and Natasha at times, leaving you alone. It’s not a big deal at times. You love having time to yourself. But there’s a comfort in having such amazing people around you; their presence gives you that calm you need in desperate situations.

It’s one of those days again when Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Wanda are out on a mission together. Tony’s cooped up in his lab, and Vision is doing god knows what. You’ve completed your training for the day, having practiced on a combat simulation in a different training room. You were tagged only two times today, and two is definitely better than eight. After that, you showered and pigged out on some pineapple and strawberries. The compound is always a quiet place, not much happening inside nor on the outside. Everyone goes to their own spaces and does their own thing. Your space happens to be the empty training room, the combat simulation, and occasionally outside. Sam wanted to know how well you’d fair against a person who can fly. He was mostly carefree about it, since it’s only practice, but you gave it everything you got. You lost control a few times trying to keep up with him, and he teased you about it. After getting over your initial anger, you would crack a smile and laugh along with him, telling him you’d do better next time. You have yet to prove that to him.

You’re currently lounging about in the living room, quietly writing in your journal about your day. You have two separate journals: one for writing about your day, and the other strictly for the Avengers. You don’t want them to know that you have either, so you usually only write in them in your room. But since no one is here today, you’re feeling a little risky.

Your Day Journal doesn’t have anything special in it. You basically write about what happened during your day, and nothing else. But the Avengers Journal is a little dodgier. You write about their life story, their personality traits, mental stability, their reaction to something you said and so on. Keeping such a book is a little dangerous, in your opinion. You don’t want any of them to read it. Their reactions would probably include being offended and a little creeped out. And that is something a Canadian like yourself doesn’t want to be accused of.

You slam your book shut when you finish the last sentence in your Day Journal, setting it down for a moment. You blow your lips and sigh, wondering what to do for the remainder of the day. It’s only one in the afternoon. There’s lots you could do. You could train more, meditate, swim, play with your powers, sneak into Tony’s lab… But none of that seems appealing to you at the moment. You want to go outside and explore. See what’s surrounding the compound, and maybe even going for a little road trip for the day. A certain place comes to mind when you think about ditching the compound for a few hours. Borrowing the jet wouldn’t be too big of a deal, right?

Finalizing your decision, you take your Day Journal and pack it in your bag along with your passport, phone, money, and anything else you may need. You put on black skinny jeans with a zip-up hoodie, your mask, and a snapback. If you’re going to read about Steve Rogers’ life in World War II at the Smithsonian, you might as well dress like a regular civilian.

* * *

The flight to D.C. is about as long as your trip from Toronto to L.A. The jet easily cuts time down, so you arrive there within a few hours. The airport is busy, like any other one, and you find it kind of hard to navigate your way through the crowd. You told the pilot you’d only be a few hours so that he can roam around by himself during that time. You only brought a carry-on, which was your bag, so you don’t have to wait for your luggage like everyone else. You exit the airport in a hurry, hail a cab (with a degree of difficulty), and get on your way to the Smithsonian.

You didn’t expect a castle to be the Smithsonian. It’s so enormous and the outside looks like it belongs in the streets of Europe. You don’t really know how everything works, but it’s a nice surprise that you don’t have to pay to enter. The moment you step through the doors, you’re in a state of awe. It’s basically like what you see on TV: airplanes hanging from the ceiling, things from NASA and the like. You want to stay for longer, but there’s really only one exhibition you want to see. You look at other things to pass the time, slowly making your way around to where you need to be.

You get a few strange looks from people because you’re wearing your mask, but you ignore them quite easily. It’s not the first time someone looked at you funny because you had it on. After about 30 minutes of walking around, you come to the entrance all about Steve Rogers and his adventures as Captain America. This part of the museum is a little darker, the displays a little brighter. There’s a bunch of kids around, smiling and pulling their parent’s hands, yelling about how great Captain America is. You smile at their enthusiasm. Steve really does live up to his name, keeping people safe from HYDRA operations and such. You keep your head down from everyone, more out of paranoia than anything. Your line of sight draws you to a wall lined with the uniforms of the Howling Commandos.

You approach the wall, hands stuffed in your hoodie pockets. It makes you smile seeing one of Steve’s old uniforms he used in the war. Your smile falters a little when you look to the right, at James’ uniform. He was the only one to give his life for his country. Supposedly, of course. You know what happened after that.

You move along to a memorial dedicated to James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes. It has a picture of him when Steve rescued him along with hundreds of other men. It has his birth and death date, and a small article written about him. You look down, and see him smiling with Steve in a black and white video.

You clench your hands into fists, nails digging into your palms. The more you watch the video and re-read the article, the more you get upset. You’re not the first person to be upset when reading this exhibit, but you can’t help but feel emotions about it because you’ve known Steve for a few weeks now. He’s caring and puts others first and is a general good man. And to think he had supposedly lost his best friend… A person can’t not be depressed about it. Tears pool in your eyes, your throat closing up. Your lip quivers under your mask, and you do your damnest not to break down.

It doesn’t work out well.

More and more thoughts cloud your mind as you think about the whole situation. Here he was, Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, willing to follow Steve wherever he went. Ready to battle with him, and to die for him. Instead, he was taken from him. The only thing that HYDRA gave him that benefitted him was a new arm. Having his mind and will taken away to be reprogrammed to be a killing machine is about as low as HYDRA can get. No memories of Steve, of his time in the war, of his family. There’s nothing. His whole life ripped away in a matter of seconds. All he had was orders waiting to be heard, and execute them as The Winter Soldier.

You put your fist over your covered mouth, taking deep breaths to calm down. The tears pour from your eyes, a sob escaping your mouth. A couple looks over at you, but you quickly divert your eyes to the floor. You try to hold it together, but it’s not working very well.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Natasha’s voice scares the shit out of you, and you wipe away your tears, but you already know she’s seen them. You turn yourself away from her, clenching and unclenching your hands in your pockets. You don’t want her to know why you were crying. It’d be a little embarrassing, but maybe she’s see it as empathetic.

“How’d you find me?” you whisper.

“We noticed one of our jets wasn’t in the hangar. We traced its location to the D.C. airport. It was only a matter of time before we found you.”

“‘We’, huh? So all of you are here?”

“No. Just me.”

This news is sort of comforting. At least Steve or Sam or Wanda won’t see you vulnerable like this. If it were up to you, Natasha would be the only one to see your emotional side. She’s good at keeping secrets; why not keep one of your own?

She’s also wearing a hoodie, but not a hat nor sunglasses. She’s a master at concealing herself, so showing her face like this might not be a big deal. You can see her eyeing you from your peripherals, and then to where you were originally looking.

“Barnes was Steve’s closest friend,” she says.

“I know,” you reply quietly. “I read it…”

You look up at the obituary for him, then back at the video.

“He must’ve been really happy to see Steve, and be his best friend. I know I would.”

Natasha looks at you curiously, a sad smile playing on her lips.

“When Barnes became the Winter Soldier, all his memories of Steve were gone. A lot happened during that time and now.”

You sigh through your nose, and shake your head.

“All he wanted to do was kick some HYDRA ass, and instead he became their bitch.” You laugh without humour. “What an inhuman thing to do to someone. Fucking Nazis…”

Natasha feels for you, since inhuman things have been done to her many times before. She knows that you don’t know a lot about Bucky except for what you’ve read online and seen in the news. Since you’re a member of their team, she thinks you deserve to know some important details.

“Steve nearly died when he fought Barnes in D.C. during the Helicarrier incident at the Triskelion,” she starts. “Barnes didn’t recognize nor remember him. Fast forward to now, Barnes isn’t exactly the Winter Soldier anymore. But he’s also not his original self either. He’s somewhere in the middle. He remembers Steve, though. He’s a danger to everyone and himself, so he’s in a cryogenic freeze right now.”

Great. Even more heartbreaking news. He’ll never be the man he was before. The war changed him, as well as being the Winter Soldier. His mental stability is probably the worst of all. But if he’s in a cryogenic freeze, then it can’t be that bad for him now. He’s at peace for the time being.

You pull your mask down to wipe away your excess tears, then put your hands back in your pockets. You begin walking away, not waiting for Natasha. You just need to get out of there before you start thinking and crying again.

Natasha is right on your heels, not daring to let you out of her sight. You maneuver yourself through the crowd, wanting to get somewhere less packed. Everywhere is littered with people, so the best option is to just leave the Smithsonian completely. You’re met with the blinding light of the sun; groaning in frustration, you shield your eyes and quickly walk down the steps of the institution. You don’t look behind you, knowing fully well that Natasha is following closely behind you. You keep walking and walking, not caring where you ended up.

After ten minutes, you stop at the Washington Monument. You’ve wanted to visit it, and since you could sort of see it from the institution, you thought why the hell not? It’s the tallest obelisk in the world, and it gives you cover since there’s a bunch of people around it too. You don’t care if Natasha keeps following you. As long as she doesn’t speak to you for the next few minutes, you’ll be alright.

You’re a fast walker anyway, so walking around the monument is quick and easy, though it takes a toll on your breathing. It isn’t particularly hot out, so you’re not suffocating in your mask. Looking over your shoulder has become second nature to you, no matter how suspicious it looks. It can’t hurt to be a little paranoid at times, but not 24/7. A quick glance every now and then is okay, but once people start to notice, it can cause a panic. And that’s something you don’t want to do. As you look farther down the street, you can see what looks like the Lincoln Memorial. Between you and that is the National WWII Memorial and the Reflecting Pool. There’s plenty of space for a light jog. And an eventual run. You hurriedly pull out your phone and go to the playlist named “Loud”. You plug in your Bluetooth headphones, and begin jogging.

To everyone else, it looks like you’re on an ordinary run. Nothing to worry about, nothing to poke around in. But in reality, you’re trying to blow off steam by running while listening to loud, angry music because you’re feeling angry and emotional about what you just learned at the Smithsonian. You know how inappropriate it is to be mad at something that didn’t happen to you, but that’s just how you are. Injustices upon people who didn’t–and don’t–deserve it, makes you go wild with rage. And it angers you furthermore because you can’t do anything about it.

After one song of jogging, you pick up the pace, and the volume on your phone. A shiver goes down your spine when you recognize the next song to be “Louder than Words” by Les Friction. This one is especially loud and powerful. It never fails to make your blood boil and your whole body sensitive.

The beginning intro is soft, and you really want to just skip to the amazing orchestra, but you restrain yourself from doing so. You keep your new pace, heart pounding in your chest and your leg muscles screaming. It’s a small price to pay in order to have a good run… Away from Natasha.

A minute into the song, it’s starting to get to the good bits. Cool air attacks your throat, making it harder to breathe. It’s a miracle that you decided to wear running shoes to D.C. If you had been wearing Converse, you’d be sure to have little blisters on the sides of your pinky toes. Instead, it’s nothing but insole comfort.

People move out of the way when they see you coming, afraid they’d get knocked over. You can’t run as fast as Steve because he’s a monster when it comes to running. Yet another perk of the super soldier serum. You do your best though; all those hours on the Treadclimber are finally paying off. You take one look behind you. Natasha isn’t there. Either she stopped chasing after you, or she’s ahead of you. You don’t see her as you turn back around. All you see is confused looks on people’s faces.

You keep an eye out for her, and potentially anything else that looks suspicious. There’s the paranoia again. You have your lighter in your bag just in case. Your weakness is just a mere few feet beside you, so you’re hoping no one pushes you in the pool, or trip over yourself and go tumbling. That wouldn’t be embarrassing at all.

The song is at its peak, and for a moment nothing else matters. The orchestra makes your heart beat erratically, if not more than from sprinting. The lyrics and choir scream in your ears, urging you to go faster. You’ve never run this fast in your life. Not even to get to work. It’s a new personal achievement.

You’re almost at the Lincoln Memorial, which is a great surprise. You thought your legs would have given out already. Your entire body is telling you to stop, but you tell yourself no. Keep going. By the time you reach the steps of the Memorial, you start dry heaving. Your legs are like jello, your throat a scratched mess. You bend over, supporting yourself on your knees and try to even your breathing. You feel a dizzy kind of sick due to the fact you haven’t eaten anything since early this morning. You wobble over to a trashcan and grip its sides. You hold your chest and go down on your knees, struggling to breathe.

“Tag. You’re it.”

You’re not even surprised by what Natasha does anymore. How she got ahead of you, you don’t know. She’s Natasha Romanoff. She can pretty much do anything and then some.

Your head pounds against your ears, your heart jumping out of your rib cage. Your hands shake as you try to stand up. You nearly topple over, but Natasha catches your arm and pulls you back. Your eyes are shut tight as you still struggle to breathe.

“What was that about?” she asks.

“Haaa. I was. Haaa. Testing my. Haaaa. Cap. Capacity,” you pant. She rolls her eyes and stands you up straight.

“There are better places to do that,” she comments, looking around. “Like in the weight room back at the compound. Sprinting like you’re running from something doesn’t do well with the public. Especially if they see a person dressed like you. They already have something to be on edge about. We don’t want to add to their uneasiness.”

You can only nod at her comments, still having trouble breathing. After a few deep breaths, you close your eyes and sigh. Looking back at Natasha, you see her expression is deadly serious. Seeing her like this always puts you off, because you feel that something else is going on, or something is going to happen. It makes your stomach queasy.

“I need some water,” you mutter. This time, you wait for her to walk with you.

You still feel a little sick so after your visit to the water fountain, so you sit in at a small cafe a few streets over. Natasha is silent the entire time, which is a relief to you. You don’t know if you can deal with being scolded again. You order something light, and eat it slowly. You’re exhausted now, and a little sleepy, to be honest. You nearly fall asleep with your head in your hand. After that, you and Natasha make the long trek back to the airport.

You don’t make to start a conversation, and you make sure she doesn’t start one either by listening to your music again. Rude to not listen to a person, and also rude to try to speak to a person who clearly isn’t interested. Either way, it’s rude. And you don’t care. You even take a nap to amp up the rudeness.

You have a feeling it’s not going to be a pleasant evening when you get back to the compound. Everyone will want to know where you went, if they even care. Steve’s reaction worries you the most, since it’s his best friend’s memorial you went to visit.

_Why the hell do they still have the memorial anyway? He’s clearly not dead._

You grew up with a family that lied a lot, so this should be a breeze for you. You have a lot of time to conjure up something believable, but not too detailed that they’d be able to figure out that something’s up. You’ve done it a hundred times before. This should be a no-brainer. Natasha lets you have your time to yourself on the jet ride home, but can’t help but wonder why you were so interested in Bucky anyway.

You make a pained face as you sit up, haven woken up with a stiff neck and an arm that’s fallen asleep. You hiss as you turn your head, and shake your arm to wake it up. Natasha has taken a nap herself, bringing you great relief. Even less chance for a conversation. You take out your earphones and put your phone away, getting more comfortable in your sleep.

“Ready to tell them where you went?”

“You really need to stop doing that.”

Natasha speaks with her eyes still closed. She smirks a little at your annoyance, fully opening them and raises an eyebrow at you. Despite your irritation, you answer her with a shrug.

“I went to D.C. because I’ve always wanted to visit the Smithsonian, the Monument, and the Lincoln Memorial. Even though I’m not American, they’re cool places. End of story.”

It’s not a lie. You really did want to see them, but you’re just leaving Bucky out of it. They all know what’s at the Smithsonian, especially Steve, but it’s best not to mention it. No need to bring up unnecessary tension.

“Without taking any pictures?”

“Can you just drop it, please? I’ve made my lie. It’s done with.”

“Why are you so interested in Barnes?”

You shoot her a glare, but she doesn’t even flinch. Even though wearing your mask makes you even scarier to some people, Natasha doesn’t buy it one bit. She crosses her arms, awaiting a reply. You sigh heavily and pinch the bridge of your nose.

“I dunno,” you say, exasperated. “I’m nosy? I like to know things? I wanna know what not to say in front of Steve so I don’t accidentally pinch a nerve or rub salt in an open wound? He literally went from a loyal soldier to a brainwashed maniac and I find that infuriating? What do you want from me, Natasha?”

Your tone seems to put her off a little, since her eyes widen a fraction and she doesn’t say anything at first. You sit back in your seat and cross your arms, staring out of the window onto the Los Angeles streets below.

“I just… I wanted to know what he did back then before he became what he is now,” you say quietly. “It’s a fascination. You just wanna know things so you don’t get information wrong. And out of respect. I can guess that he’s not the Winter Soldier anymore, based on what happened recently. But between being the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes, he’s not the same person anymore. And he never will be, no matter how hard he tries.”

That ends the conversation right there, the pilot announcing your arrival at the compound. You avoid eye contact with Natasha and everyone else when you go to the main floor.

“Hey, Spyro,” Sam greets you with a smile, the nickname easily fitting. “Where were you today?”

You blow past him without a second glance. You know Sam doesn’t deserve that, but there’s anger building up inside of you and you need to unleash it quickly. Sam watches your retreating back with a dumbfounded look on his face. Natasha answers him before he says anything.

“Our newest recruit went for a little trip,” she explains. “To D.C.”

“D.C.?” Sam echoes.

“She said she wanted to see the Smithsonian and Monument, purely for entertainment.”

No matter how hard Steve or Sam try, Bucky’s memorial always comes to mind when the Smithsonian is mentioned. It’s there permanently, though it should be temporarily. But then again, maybe it’s a good thing to keep it there; remind people that Bucky wasn’t a monstrous killer, but a kind-hearted, faithful, brave friend and soldier that served in World War II. Nevertheless, it’s a terrible stab to the heart to be reminded of what he used to be compared to now.

All you do is think and think and think as you storm your way through to the weight room. Workout clothes on, mask frightening, eyes angry. Check, check, and check. Confused stares are ignored, all care thrown out the window. You just need to punch something. And fast. Because all this anger is about to explode inside of you.

All of it is mostly aimed at the injustices that have happened throughout your 25 years and all those before you. The World Wars, wrongly convicted felons, people you love being bullied (famous or not), that fact that Trump is a real person, racists, homophobes, Islamophobes, misogynists, fuckboys, people who don’t call themselves feminists because it should be “equalists” instead. The worsening heath of the earth, global warming, massacres, genocides, Bucky.

You punch the bag so hard you’re sure it would break. But again, you’re not Steve Rogers, America’s first Avenger with the super-soldier serum. You swear under your breath, sweat dripping from your forehead onto the floor. You don’t let the tears out. Not yet. The anger has to be unleashed first.

You bounce on your feet with your hands in the air, and start punching the shit out of the sand-filled punching bag. Your knuckles crack, so you use your feet instead. You yell every time you make contact, letting out your pent up frustration.

“Mother. Fucking. Bull. Shit. I. Fucking. Hate. These. People!”

Your arms get weaker as the sobs get caught in your throat again. You lay your forehead on the bag and clench your hands around it. You furrow your brows and bite your bottom lip, breaths shaky as you try not to have another breakdown. Music raging in your ears, you angrily pull them out and fall to the floor, laying on your back. Chest heaving, you wipe your hands down your face and shake your head.

“Calm down. It’s okay. You’re okay. You’ll get the chance to burn some people. It’ll be alright. Not everyone is a goddamn Nazi. Not like his whole life was taken away within the blink of an eye by one of 'em. Nope. Nothing to worry about. Not. Your. Problem.”

You pound your fists on the floor and rip off your mask. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if the team saw you like this. They’d probably think they made the wrong choice by recruiting you.

_If you wanna stay here, then you need to get off your ass and stop being an emotional bitch._

And you do just that. You sit up and take ten deep breaths before standing up and taking your place in front of the punching bag again. You practice for another half hour before moving onto the weights. You’re much calmer this time, both because of your music change and blankness of your mind. You think about things that make you happy, like photography, Maeve, your new teammates, music, internet humour, nature… Soon enough you’re laughing about memes.

Another hour passes, and your muscles have decided they’ve had enough. You set the cowbells down and do a quick cool down stretch before making your way back upstairs. No one is on the kitchen, as usual, so you drink the apple juice from the carton. You slam it on the counter when you’ve had your fill and put it back. You turn to go take a shower when you run into Sam.

“Sorry,” you mumble, walking around him. You stop mid-step and turn around again. “And sorry about blowing past you. I was in a mood.”

He smiles and waves you off.

“It’s alright, Spyro,” he says.

“Y'know I can’t have that as my alias, right?” you mention. “It’s already taken and copyrighted.”

“Taken shmaken I’m still calling you Spyro, Spyro,” he chuckles. “Nat said you took a trip to D.C. today.”

Looks like that shower is gonna have to wait.

You look towards the floor and roll your fingers in your pants. “I may have,” you reply. “To see the Smithsonian and Monument. Good times good times…”

Sam crosses his arms and gives you a once over. Your heart beats faster, scared that he’ll ask something that you don’t want to answer. “See anything good?”

“Yeah. Really, really great stuff. Never knew the Smithsonian looked like a castle. Or that the World War II memorial was in the same place as the Monument. Saw the Lincoln Memorial too. Awesome. Really big. Didn’t get any pictures, though. Didn’t have my camera.”

“Oh?” he chimes in. “I didn’t think you’d forget something so crucial, since you’re a photographer. There are great things in D.C. that are picture worthy. Why didn’t you bring it?”

Oh, he’s good. Subtly trying to get you to say why you really went to D.C. Sam is the friendliest, besides Steve, so you can easily tell him anything. You could tell Sam if you want, but you don’t know if you’ll want to see his expressionless face when you mention Bucky. You know Bucky’s not really his friend, given that he tried to kill him a few years back. His neutral face wouldn’t be because he’s annoyed, but because he’s thinking of Steve. And that’s something you don’t wanna see.

“It slipped my mind,” you say pathetically.

“’Slipped your mind’, huh?” he echoes.

You shrug. “Not that big a deal. I can go again. Of course, I’ll be more mindful that gas costs money. Especially jet gas. I’m gonna go shower now.”

You turn on your heel and speed walk down the hall to your room, closing the door gently. You know you won’t be able to hide this forever. It’s not a big deal, but yet it is. It’s not a big deal because hundreds of people see Bucky’s memorial everyday, and yet it is a big deal because this is Steve’s childhood friend that got brainwashed and made into something formidable who is still alive. Beaten and broken, but alive.

You make your own dinner after you shower. White rice and veggies suits you just fine. You’re in a hurry to prepare it so you can eat it in your room, and so you can avoid speaking to anyone. Especially Sam. He’s getting a little too nosy for your liking.

You tap your foot on the floor impatiently, stirring around your vegetables periodically. The rice is already good to go, but it’s always the legumes that take the longest. You add in some teriyaki in your rice to give it a little more flavour, doing the same to your pan of legumes. You keep looking over your shoulder, keeping a watchful eye on those who may want to pick on you. Steve is the only one that’s genuinely nice to you, without any teasing. Everyone else on the other hand can’t get enough of it. Especially Tony. You really have to watch out for him. He’s ahead of you in terms of snarky remarks; there’s no telling when he could pull a fast one on you.

You take your vegetables out, frozen be damned. You just want to eat without being interrupted. This is around the time when Vision and Wanda make dinner together, so you dump your veggies on your rice, mixing them quickly, then dash down the hall to your room.

For once, everything worked out. You ate in the comforting silence of your room, no one disturbed you, and you tossed your bowl in the sink without anyone seeing you. It seemed a little too perfect for you, but you ignored the nagging feeling that something’s wrong and went back to your room to watch tv.

Two hours later, around 10 p.m., there’s a soft knock at your door. You’re still pretty awake, but you don’t want to answer it. The glow of the TV gives you away, so you sigh as you stand up, and open the door an inch to see who it is.

“Steve?”

“Hi.”

You open the door all the way out of politeness, stepping aside to let him in. You turn on the light and sit cross legged on your bed as Steve stands in front of you, arms crossed. He looks like he wants to have a serious discussion, so you also mute the TV. You clap your hands together and look up at him.

“Something up?”

“Just wanted to check up on you,” he says softly. “I heard from Nat that you went to D.C. today while we were on a mission.”

Here it is. That nagging feeling from earlier that something is going to happen. You didn’t think it’d be a talk with Steve.

“Yeah, I did,” you confirm.

“How was it?”

“Good. Saw some pretty amazing things. Cool places. Had a run. Uhhh yeah. Everything was… Everything was good.”

“That’s good to hear.”

You smile in reply. You know there’s something else he wants to talk about. Otherwise he wouldn’t be standing in your bedroom at 10 at night. He uncrosses his arms and gestures to your bed. You nod and slide over to give him some room. The bed creaks as he takes a seat. Folding your hands in your lap, you wait for him to continue.

“The Smithsonian, huh?” he finally says after a silence.

You don’t want to make him have to say it, so you say it yourself.

“Yeah. I… saw him. It was a nice display. Not like they need it anymore,” you chuckle lightly, trying to ease the mood. Steve pulls a minuscule smile before it vanishes. Seeing as how your attempt at humour won’t exactly work this time, you cut it out completely. “But yes. It was a nice set-up. It’s good to know what he was like before… all that.”

Steve sighs through his nose, hands folded on his knees. You’ve never seen him this way. He’s usually smiling, training, or having an argument with Tony. But this? He looks like he’s about to cry, but he’s trying not to. He’s staring out the window, probably thinking about him and Bucky back when they were kids. After subtly mentioning his best friend, it’s hard not to think about them.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper when he doesn’t reply. He gives you a quick smile before looking at the floor again.

“Thanks,” he says. Sitting up straight, he clears his throat, preparing to say more.

“Buck wasn’t exactly the reason why I wanted to talk to you,” he continues, which surprises you. When he sees your confused look, he moves on. “I was going to the weight room when I heard you talking to yourself. You seemed like you wanted to be alone, so I went for a run instead.”

That certainly isn’t what you thought he was going to say. He’s concerned about you? That’s a new one. Everyone’s mostly just concerned with how your training is going and when you’re ready for missions. This is the first time since joining the team that someone was worried about your emotional state.

_God bless this man._

You rub the back of your neck and look away, suddenly feeling vulnerable. When you glance at Steve, he’s looking at you expectantly with his big blue eyes that you know you can’t resist. Sighing deeply, you tell him the truth.

“I get a bit too worked up about things,” you say. “I get too pissed off that I wanna punch something, so that’s what I did.”

“It’s okay,” he repeats. “It’s fine to get worked up about things like this. I do all the time. It’s probably the best idea not to act on every tiny detail, but the pain and hurt is still there.”

“It’s with him everyday,” you say inaudibly to yourself. Steve doesn’t miss a beat and nods his head in agreement.

“I know it’s not right of me to ask you this,” you begin, heart racing in your chest. “But… Can you tell me how he used to be? I know it’s not good to get wound up in the past, but sometimes it’s important to not have a bias judgment based on what he is now.”

Steve thinks about it a little. The more he does, the more the smile stretches across his face.

“I assume that you’ve seen pictures of me before I had the serum?” You nod. “Bucky would always be there when I got in a fight. Well, not on every single occasion, but he was there nonetheless. Saving the little guy who’s too stupid to run away from a fight. He was there when my dad died, and when my mom did. He was always there to pick me up when I was down. Even when I had nothing I had Bucky.”

Imagining pre-serum Steve getting his ass kicked and being saved by Bucky made you smile.

“He seems like a really great friend,” you comment.

“The best. Although he tried a little too much sometimes.”

“What do you mean?”

“He blew $3 trying to win a stuffed bear for a girl.”

“$3?! That’s nearly $52 today! Damn. He really sucked at carnival games.”

“That he did.”

This is a conversation with Steve you never knew you’d have. Rather, you didn’t know the conversation would be so cheerful and nostalgic. For him, anyway. You’re enjoying it yourself, so you try to focus on that Bucky instead of the person he is now. You don’t know what he’s like now because you’ve never met him, but you hope you do. It’d be… Interesting, to say the least, to see what he has become.

You put your hand on Steve’s knee and squeeze it gently.

“Thanks for telling me,” you smile. “Sorry if you felt pressured. I didn’t mean to.”

He shakes his head. “I wanted to. It’s nice to let another person know about my best friend.”

Well. That didn’t make your heart lurch at all. Despite everything that’s happened, Steve still considers Bucky his best friend. It tugs at your heart strings, making it beat faster. He claps his hands together and smiles brightly at you.

“So. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I told you about my best friend. You have one to tell me about?”

You playfully nudge him and smile.

“Quid pro quo, huh? Okay then. Maeve is her name. She’s great. She does my makeup and shops a lot. She leaves her shi—stuff, everywhere though. Not very good at keeping the apartment clean when I’m not around. Although she does a decent job when I  _am_ around. Probably for my sake. She’s going to school for environmental interior design specialization. So she has a bunch of papers laying around with all her designs and whatnot. Ummmm… yeah. She’s just really awesome. One of the first friends I made in Toronto. So funny and caring and sarcastic at times. Great person all around. She helped me get my first photography job! I owe her a lot for that.”

Steve nods and smiles with everything you say, clearly enjoying what you have to say about one of your best friends.

“She sounds like a grand person to have as a best friend,” he says. You nod along happily.

“I wouldn’t call her my ‘best friend’ because I just categorize everyone as a friend. I think other people would do the same for me. I’m not really what people call a ‘best friend’. More like ‘companion’ or ‘buddy’, or even ‘chum’.” Steve’s expression saddens a little, but you continue on before he beats you to the punch. “Anyway. Oh! I told her I’d keep her updated on things. I’ve mostly just been sending her texts and Snapchats of me. Do you mind if I send one of you?”

He flinches at the word “Snapchat”, immediately looking dumbfounded.

“Snap… chat?” he repeats. “What’s that?”

“It’s an image messaging system,” you reply. When he still doesn’t really get it, you grab your phone from the bedside table and open the app, leaning over to show him. “Here. When you swipe right, you can see your friend’s stories. And when you swipe left it’s where you get your ‘snaps’ from. Lemme show you.”

You sit back a bit and hold your phone up in front of Steve’s face, then hold the button to take a video.

“Say hi to Maeve, Steve!” you say excitedly.

He stutters as he smiles, looking down at his lap before back into the camera.

“Uhhh. Hi, Maeve.”

Short and to the point. You stop the recording and add the text “Steve says hi!” before showing him. He raises his eyebrows as he stares down at himself.

“That’s pretty cool,” he chuckles. You choose Maeve’s name and send it through.

“There, now it sent to her,” you say. “She’ll get a notification that I sent her something, and then she’ll open it and see that video of you!”

“That’s…  _very_  cool,” he says, sporting a toothy grin. You lock your phone and put it back.

“I’ll teach you a bunch of other social media things a different day. You’ll love it. Deprived of 70 years of advanced technology. It’s sad, really. But don’t worry. You’ll learn quickly. It’ll be a cinch once you get used to it.”

Steve nods his head and stands up, his knees cracking as he straightens up. “That’d be great,” he agrees. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too.”

“Goodnight, _______. I hope you’ll feel better in the morning.”

Without another word he leaves, closing the door gently behind him. You stare at the door, still amazed that he was worried about you. Sighing, you unmute the TV before turning it off, along with your bedroom light. Snuggling into your pillows, your last thoughts are of Steve and Bucky, your lip quivering at their crumbled relationship.


	4. Mission One

Everything is going like a normal day would. You get up, choke down some pineapple, then head to the training room. You’re supposed to be training with Wanda today, but she’s not there. You ask F.R.I.D.A.Y., to which the A.I. says she’s waiting outside. You fiddle with your mask as you skip down the steps and meet with her.

You’re getting better, but Wanda can still kick your ass because she can control anything and you can only control… Well, fire. You amp up the heat at times, but only a little because you don’t want to accidentally hurt her. You practice your close combat as well. Surprisingly, it’s a fair match. Tony looks on from the conservatory with a watchful eye.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. Give me a rundown of _______’s stats.”

“Certainly, sir. Her stamina could use a little more work. Stamina is rated 7/10. Close combat is rated 9/10. Long-distance fighting is improving considerably. Rating is 8/10. Her control is better than it was when she first arrived. Control is 8/10. I believe she’s ready, sir.”

“You and me both.”

Tony presses the button to activate the outside PA system and begins speaking.

“Hey, Fireball.”

You stop mid-punch, and look around to where the source of Tony’s voice is coming from.

“Yoohoo, up here.”

You look up to the left of the compound, and see a tiny figure waving their hand. Most likely Tony. You squint at him as you back away from Wanda and face him with your hands on your hips.

“What is it?”

“Time to go get ready.”

“For what?”

“Your first mission.”

You’re not gonna lie. That scares you a little. This is your first mission, a month after you joined the Avengers. You can’t help but feel a little nauseous. You just nod your head and begin walking back inside. Wanda trails behind you, looking up at Tony as he disappears.

You meet Tony in the kitchen, eyeing him curiously. He gives you a look as well.

“What are you waiting for?” he asks. “Go suit up. Meet us in the hangar in ten.”

You give him the evil eye before disappearing to your room. Wanda comes up behind Tony and crosses her arms.

“Are you sure she’s ready?”

“She will be.”

* * *

Your outfit is pretty pathetic, but since you don’t have a proper uniform yet you’re just going to have to manage with what you have. Black leggings, combat boots, a black T-shirt, and your mask. You have an elastic on your wrist just in case, leaving your hair down as is. You emerge from your room and go downstairs to the hangar to meet with Tony.

Steve and Natasha are there too for your first team mission. Your heart beat picks up as you get closer to them, reality setting in that you’re going to be fighting alongside the Avengers. A shiver goes down your spine, the temperature of the hangar a little cold for your liking. As you approach them, you can see Tony looking at you in disapproval.

“You’re going like that?” he says. “Even Wanda has a better suit than you.”

“Oh I’m sorry but I don’t have the materials to make my own heat and fire resistant super-suit, Mr. Stark,” you reply sarcastically. “So this is what you get.”

“Fine,” he says, stepping up. “You do your job the right way, and I’ll make something for you.”

You give him a skeptical look. He seems serious. He’s not laughing or holding back a smile. He’s looking right at you with that ego of his. You scoff and shake your head.

“Alright,” you agree. “We have a wager.”

Now he smiles.

“Good. Nat and Cap will brief you on the jet.”

He walks away, his Iron Man suit clamouring away as he does so. Steve and Nat exchange looks, but lead you to the quinjet anyhow.

* * *

The mission is quite simple. It’s an infiltration of an old HYDRA checkpoint in San Francisco, and rumour has it that there’s some agents still lurking around there. Since they’re HYDRA, they’re bound to have valuable information. Your job is to settle any explosions that break out. Seems easy enough.

Steve and Nat lead the way, while Tony keeps his distance in the air. You’re a little further away from the leading two, looking left and right and up and down. You’re not one for surprises, especially ones where you could die at any second. Well. No one likes those surprises.

When Steve breaks the entrance open with his shield, you stay behind to be on a lookout. Nat gives you a reassuring nod before disappearing inside with Steve. Just as the door closes, reality sets in.

_What if they have guns? How the hell can I stop those? Can I heat up the chamber fast enough before it hits me? Fuck fuck fuck I wish I had Steve’s shield._

Despite your inner panic, you know you have to stay calm. Tony said there should only be a handful of them, but anything can happen.

You pat the inside of your boot, making sure you can feel the outline of your lighter. A shaky sigh escapes your lips when you confirm its presence, then go back to looking up and down the halls for any sign of movement.

You can’t hear much from the inside. Either the room is soundproof, or Steve and Natasha are killing them with silence. You try to look for anything that could set off an alarm. There’s no smoke system, but there are cameras. You’re hidden from one of them, but you wonder if they’re even active. There’s no flashing red light that would assume so. Should you take it out anyway? Would it benefit the mission? Or make it blatantly obvious that the Avengers are here to fuck shit up? Struggling to make a decision, you do a quick round of eenie meenie.

You’re not going to do it.

It’s best not to attract unnecessary attention, so you stay put, hands at the ready to put out a fire, or ignite one.

You hear shouting from the inside. You pull out your lighter and flick it open, brows furrowed, ready to take action. It grows louder and closer, along with the erratic beating of your heart. Your stomach feels tight, and your throat dry. You take a deep breath and remind yourself that this was your choice. You chose to be a part of this team. Now it’s your job to protect society from dangerous threats. You grab the door handle, ready to barge inside when everything goes quiet. You’d rather have the shouting back. Eerie silence isn’t exactly comforting on a mission like this. Silence is never a good thing. It’s like preparing for a jump scare; all that’s missing is the creepy music.

Stepping away from the door, you hold your lighter up higher, opening the cap to let the little flame free. You have your other hand beside it, fingers twitching, ready to roast some HYDRA bastards. When you see the door handle jiggling, you create a small fireball in your hand, ready to blow it in their faces. Arm held at the side of your head, you push it forward until it’s a few inches from Steve’s face.

“Christ!” you shout, lowering your arm and extinguishing the flame. “I could’ve burnt your face off!”

Steve is still staring at you in shock, completely caught off-guard that you had a flaming fireball in his face. Natasha nudges him and he blinks a few times before coming back down to earth.

“We’re all done here,” he says calmly. You can hear a shuffling sound, so you look behind the two and see a man tied up with his mouth taped, dressed like a soldier.

“You caught one, huh?” you say blankly. “Are the others dead? I didn’t hear much talking.”

“These guys weren’t the talkative type,” Natasha answers, dragging the captive out behind her. “They shoot and ask questions later. Plus, our faces don’t scream ‘safe’ to people like them.”

You all start walking back to the front entrance. There’s no other signs of life around the place than you can see anyway. None of you have heard from Tony, so he should be fine. He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.

Just as the three of you near the exit, there’s an explosion from one of the upper floors. The building shakes, dust and rubble falling from the walls.

“Uhhh. Guys.”

Speak of the devil.

“Stark?” Steve says. “What’s going on up there?”

“There’s been a slight change in plans,” he says. “We got a few unexpected guests.”

You all cast each other a nervous glance.

“Can’t you deal with it?” you ask skeptically.

“It’s gonna take all of us,” Tony replies. “There’s about twenty of them heading towards the Transamerica Pyramid.”

You sigh in disappointment, and shake your head.

“The great Iron Man can’t handle twenty guys all by his lonesome, huh?” you tease.

“That’s enough,” Steve cuts in sternly. The smirk falls from your face and you clear your throat. “We need to go right now.”

While you and Steve begin running, Natasha takes the time to shove their new prisoner in the quinjet, telling F.R.I.D.A.Y. to do anything necessary to keep him there. She gives him a smirk before closing the quinjet door and following you and Steve.

Tony can easily take all of them out by himself, but there are too many civilians around. He’s more of a long-distance fighter like yourself, but if he has to get up-close and personal, he’ll do it. With the three of you on the ground and Tony in the sky surveying the area, it’ll be an easy feat. Well, you hope.

Steve, Natasha, and yourself get as close as Portsmouth Square Plaza when a bomb goes off. Instant panic sets in for you, and everyone around you. You see people covered in ashes, black smears across their faces. You’re stood frozen, unsure of what to think, let alone what to do. Steve and Natasha however, don’t even hesitate.

“_______, you need to get these civilians out of the line of fire,” Steve instructs. You don’t even hear him. you’re too busy staring at the wreckage that was once a small Vietnamese restaurant.

“_______!” Steve shouts. You snap your heads towards him. The look in his eyes takes you aback. “You need to get these people to safety. There’s no doubt that the others have explosives with them. Nat and I will take care of them. You just be sure that no one gets caught in this.”

You nod slowly, still a little out of it. You heard what he said, but you’re having a hard time registering it. All you need to do is keep the people away from the dangerous situation. Your recognition is all Steve needs to dart away, Nat trailing behind him. Your ears are ringing from the screams of everyone around you.

_They’re so terrified… they never knew what hit them._

Legs moving on their own, you head to the front of the restaurant that’s still aflame, raise your hands, and begin to bring it down. People run away from you out of fear that you’re going to make it worse, but others run because they’re scared as hell. Even with only a month’s training, the amount of time to put out a small fire is impeccable. You never had enough time to sit down and train your brain for hours on end. All those hours are paying off effortlessly. The fire is out in ten seconds, giving you the chance to go inside and drag out any survivors. There’s only seven people in the place, including the chef and owner. Two are dead, the rest are severely injured. You help them outside, telling them to find shelter elsewhere while you move onto the next location.

You can hear and see several more explosions ahead of you. You narrow your eyes as you run faster towards the explosion sites, getting people to safety and dousing the fires. It seems that everywhere you look you see flames. There’s smoke coming from all directions, and there’s not enough time for you to take care of the public and put them out. You can see Steve and Natasha ahead of you fighting with several HYDRA agents. Most of them are littered on the ground, unconscious and bloody, while others are fleeing and rushing towards the Transamerica Pyramid.

“They’re trying to produce the most amount of causalities,” Steve says through the ear piece.

“Already got that, Cap,” Tony replies. You look up, and see him flying near one of the higher floors of the building. “I got three of them on the thirtieth floor.”

“If they set off more bombs near the foundation, the building could collapse,” you chime in.

“Not if you beat them to it, kiddo,” Tony says.

“But that’s not my job,” you say exasperated. “My job right now is to help the civilians and put out the fires from the bombs!”

“Change of plans then,” he says impatiently. “Kid, time to step it up. Join Cap and Romanoff. Stop as many as you can. I’ll get the ones up here. Make sure no more enter the tower.”

“But Stark–“

“Sorry, Cap. Just do it.”

Not even hesitating, you sprint to meet up with Steve and Natasha. The lack of police presence is astonishing, but you ignore that nagging fact and focus on the task at hand. Steve’s reluctant to have you up here in the real action, afraid that you’re going to hurt yourself. But he’s putting his faith in you. He looks at you, determined, and nods. Natasha doing the same, you return the gesture and run forward while Steve and Natasha go left and right.

This is your first time in a close-combat situation, so naturally, you’d be nervous as hell. But to your great surprise and relief, you don’t even flinch as your fist comes flying into a HYDRA agent’s face. It actually gives you a rush. You replicate what Natasha has shown you so far, slipping up a few times, but nonetheless landing some great punches. You have him on the ground and rip the bomb from his backpack before he can set it off. You kick him in the face as he smirks. Bringing the bag up to your face, your eyes widen as you hear ticking. You quickly look around to throw it somewhere, but there’s no place good. Anywhere you toss it, it won’t end well. On a last minute decision, you throw it in the direction of other agents trying to escape. The blast goes off just in time, but it sends you reeling back and into one of the tower’s supporting beams.

Your back is searing in pain as you lay on the ground. Your vision is blurry and your hearing seems to be taking a vacation. You feel sick to your stomach, and you wish you had a handful of painkillers right about now. A blurry version of Steve clouds your eyes. You see his mouth moving, but nothing reaches your ears. You look at him blearily, blinking slowly to get a clearer vision of him. He looks panicked, as he should be. You’re all in a dangerous situation right now, and anything could happen. After a few moments the ringing in your ears begins fading away, and Steve’s voice becomes sharper.

“_______! _______! Are you okay?! Can you walk?” he asks, panic written in his tone.

“I… I think so,” you reply meekly. Your legs feel like jelly as you stand up, and you grip Steve’s arm for support. You cough into your mask, the excess smoke filling your lungs. You give yourself a slap in the face to wake up, which makes Steve flinch. You nod your head at him and back away. “I’m okay. I didn’t know the blast would be that big.”

“_______’s alright,” Steve says into his ear piece. “Stark. How’s it going up there?”

“They got hostages with them,” comes his shaky reply. “I’ll deal with it.”

As you look up, Tony blasts into the building, glass shattering to the ground. Your anger boils inside of you as you see the last of the agents laying unconscious on the cement by Natasha’s hands. You want to burn them all alive. Your fingers twitch in frustration, knowing you won’t be able to do so. Not with Steve around, anyway. He said he wants all HYDRA agents dead or captured. Captured it is.

“Should we go help Tony?” you ask, eyes icy as you stare at the bodies on the ground. Steve senses your anger, but doesn’t let it get the better of him.

“Stark said he’d deal with it,” he says. “Come on. We need to patch you up.”

“I’m fine, Steve,” you say through your gritted teeth.

“But _______–“

“Steve,” you snap, turning your glare to him. “I’m fine. Let’s get these bastards out of here.”

Your eyes are trained back to the ground, observing all the faces of the HYDRA agents. You can’t help but think about Bucky, knowing that it was people like this that programmed him to be a ruthless assassin. You know that HYDRA has done more than what they did to Bucky, but since he’s the most recent person you learned about, it’ll be the only thing that comes to mind when HYDRA is involved. Tearing people’s lives apart isn’t exactly one of your favourite things. Or anyone’s really.

You begin dragging the bodies together, piling them up against the benches. You have full faith that Tony will bring the other three down bloody and unconscious, so you don’t worry about that. Steve stares at you in disbelief, wondering what’s running through your mind. He doesn’t stop you from bringing the bodies together. He stands there, expression blank, as Natasha joins you.

“You done yet?” you ask Tony, annoyed.

Tony answers by flying down from the tower with the three agents strapped together, and drops them at your feet. You raise an eyebrow at him, but drag them away with the rest. Tony’s protective mask pulls away from his face, but you don’t cast him a glance. You’re too focused on rounding up the agents, giving one or two of them a kick to some part of their body to add to their growing pain. You don’t give two shits about their safety. You just want them dead.

“You okay, kid?” Tony asks, genuine concern written all over his face.

“Fine,” you mutter, walking in circles around the group. “We should get them to the jet and have them transferred to the facility.”

Your change in subject surprises Tony, Steve, and Natasha somewhat, but they know that you’re right. There’s still people screaming and running, so it’s best to get out of there before something else happens. Tony gets back to business, telling F.R.I.D.A.Y. to bring the quinjet over to the Transamerica Redwood Park behind the tower. The jet arrives in two minutes, and you begin unceremoniously shoving the agents up the ramp and onto the floor. Some of them are awake, others are still motionless. Dead or alive, you don’t care. You just want them out of here, and to get back to the compound.

* * *

You’re still seething once all the agents have been transferred to a brutal interrogation facility. You were silent on the way there, and you’re going to keep your mouth shut on the way back too. Steve, Natasha, nor Tony have questioned you about anything. You got the job done, and that’s all they were worried about. Now they’re worried about you. Steve more than anyone, being the man that he is. He gives you over-the-shoulder looks at you sitting in the back of the quinjet every now and then. He never says anything though. By the time you get back to the compound, you’ve calmed down, the anger sleeping inside of you for now.

You immediately go to the public showers on the main floor, too tired to go to your room. Natasha follows suit, leaving Tony and Steve to themselves. You suspect that she wants to talk to you about your behaviour today. And it turns out you’re good at guessing games.

“You okay?” she asks from one stall over. You hang your towel up and turn on the water, humming quietly.

“Yeah,” comes your reply. “Was there something wrong with it?”

“No,” she says. You think she’d end it there, but you know she has more to say.

“I just didn’t expect you to do it so easily,” she continues. “I was surprised, really. Seeing you project your skills so flawlessly.”

“It was less than perfect,” you quickly cut in as you rinse the shampoo from your hair. “Pretty sure there’s gonna be a bruise on my jaw tomorrow. Plus, my back kills. Cement is ruthless.” You absentmindedly rub the sore spot, wincing at how much it really hurts.

_I should’ve thrown the bomb sooner._

“You still did a great job,” Natasha says, pulling you from your thoughts. “Putting out those fires and evacuating people from the area as quickly as you did is impressive. I’m sure Tony will make something suitable to your needs after that mission.”

You only sigh in response, slowly drifting away from the conversation. You bite your lip as you apply the conditioner, your mind steering you in one direction: Bucky. You curse yourself for thinking about him now. You have a feeling–no, you  _know_ –that it won’t be the last time thinking about the Winter Soldier. Probably every time you look at Steve, all you see is a broken man who lost his best friend, only for him to be returned to him as an emotionless servant for a Nazi organization. Knowing you’re going in an emotional direction, you focus on the mission you just completed. You make yourself smile at the thought of Tony finally making a suit for you.

“I don’t know what to show him,” you reply after a moment of silence. “I’m happy that he’s willing to make something for me, but I don’t want to be too picky about what it’s going to be. I wanna be able to move around in it, but be practical at the same time. Your outfit seems like the ideal thing, but I don’t want the  _exact_  same thing, y’know? Don’t wanna feel like I’m copying you. So I need to think of a few design ideas before he starts makes anything.”

Natasha chuckles at your uniform panic, shaking her head.

“Stark won’t make you anything you don’t like,” she says comfortingly. “Plus, it won’t take a day. He still needs a material that’s heat and fire resistant, so you have time to conjure up some uniform ideas.”

“Oh yeah… Forgot about that.” As you begin lathering yourself up in body wash, another thought creeps its way into your head. “Oh god. Do I have to make up a name for myself too?”

“I think it’s a good idea,” she says. “Don’t want you being the only one without an alias. Everyone already has some nicknames for you.” You roll your eyes.

“Oh, I’m very aware of their funny names for me,” you scoff. “’Fireball’, ‘Flamethrower’, ‘Spyro’, ‘Hell’s Angel’. Very clever.”

“Do you have a name in mind?”

“I think I do, actually. It just came to me.”

“Great what is it?”

“Phoenix.”

“Phoenix, huh? That has a ring to it.”

“I know it’s like Sam because his name is ‘Falcon’ which is also a bird but… I like it too much now to change it.”

“I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“Well, he’s gonna have to get used to it now. Because that’s my final decision.”

You rinse off after all the dirt and grime has been washed away. Turning off the water, you sigh happily at how clean you are now and wrap your towel around yourself. Natasha isn’t done yet, so you walk out by yourself, squeezing out the water from your hair first. You gather your clothes and head upstairs to return to your room.

You wrap your towel on your head when you’re dressed and walk out into the kitchen. Steve is sitting in the living room watching the news, showered and all. Tony’s in the kitchen making himself some coffee, dressed casually in jeans and an 80s band T-shirt, also showered. You look at the TV when you hear the broadcaster talking about the incident in San Francisco today. It’s mostly good things, but they always have negative points to talk about.

There’s cellphone footage of you putting out the restaurant fire and rescuing the survivors. That’s the good point. They show you doing the same to several other locations, and then comes the one where you threw the bomb a little late. You look at the floor, avoiding Steve’s and Tony’s gaze. The sound of your phone ringing makes you jump. You look at the number, and make a confused face as you answer.

“Maeve?”

“HI!”

“How are you calling me?”

“Long distance, obviously.”

“That’s gonna cost the both of us money, Maeve!”

“Money shmoney. I’m watching you right now on the news!”

“Y-You are?”

You fix your gaze on the TV again, half-listening to the anchorman talk about today’s events.

“Looks like you did a good job.”

“More or less. My back kills though.”

“Yeah. I saw you body slam yourself into a post.”

“I did not! The bomb just blew me away!”

“Okay, okay. Bomb’s fault, not yours.”

“Thank you.”

She’s silent for a few moments, and you wonder if she hung up on you. You pull your phone away to look at the call. She hasn’t hung up.

“Maeve?”

“…”

“Maeve? Hellooooo?”

“Is Cap there?”

That makes you smirk.

“Awww. You wanna talk to hiiiim?”

“N-No no no! I just uh… I got the most recent snap from you. You love spying on them don’t you?”

“A bad habit of mine. Silly me.”

“Especially in the training room, huh?”

“ _Especially_  the training room.”

Tony and Steve give you weird looks, so you clear your throat and turn your back on them, speaking quieter.

“Is that all?”

“'Is that all’? Oh, _______. How you wound me.”

“Well snapping is easier and doesn’t cost money, Maeve.”

She sighs dramatically, but agrees nonetheless.

“Fine fine. I’ll do that instead. See you later~”

“Bye, Maeve.”

You hang up the phone and immediately go to your Snapchat app. You point the camera at Tony first before panning to Steve.

“Here we have Mr. Stark making himself some coffee, and Captain Rogers having a nice sit. Oh! And here comes Natasha from downstairs.”

You end the video and listen to it. When you’re selecting Maeve’s name, Tony speaks up, pointing at your phone and walking towards you.

“Eh eh eh. What’re you uh… What’re you doing?”

You smile and send the video.

“It’s called Snapchat, old man,” you reply. “It's–”

“An image messaging system,” Steve finishes for you, still staring at the TV. When he doesn’t hear a reply, he turns around, flinching when Tony and Natasha are staring at him in disbelief.

“What?”

“That’s right, Steve,” you confirm. “Good memory.” He nods his head and turns back around, secretly smiling to himself.

“Image messaging system?” Tony repeats, rolling his eyes.

“Yes,” you say firmly. “Not everyone can have the technology you develop, Tony. Leave us youngins alone.”

He scoffs before returning to his coffee. Natasha peers over your shoulder, observing your friend’s list.

“And all these people can see it?” she asks.

“Only the people you select,” you say. “If you want to show your whole friends list something, then you put it as your story. But I hardly ever do that. I only need one person to know about me. And that’s Maeve.”

“Is that who you were speaking to?” Steve asks.

“Yup. She’s very happy to be updated on things.” You lock your phone and slip it back into your pocket before slumping down beside Steve on the couch.

“The news is just loving us,” you comment, cringing as your lower back aches.

“More like loving you,” Natasha chimes in. You look behind you at her and shrug. They do keep talking about you, wondering who the new Avengers member is. They do a freeze frame of your face and have it boxed in the corner. It makes you smile that you’re gaining so much attention, but you don’t want to seem too eager about it. Publicity is only good for so long until the media finds something nasty to say about you.

After a few more minutes of silence, you remember Tony’s wager with you. You loll your head on the couch to look at him, smiling devilishly.

“Oh Tonyyyyy,” you coo. He scrunches his nose at your tone.

“Whaaaat?” he mocks.

“How did I do today?”

He rolls his eyes as he finishes off his coffee, setting it in the sink and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Pretty well, actually,” he replies honestly. “You did as you were told like a good little girl and helped stopped HYDRA from blowing up the Transamerica Pyramid. Props.”

You’re a little surprised that he said it so seriously. Slowly closing your mouth, you slump down in your seat and cross your arms.

“Speaking of props,” you mumble. “You gonna make me a suit?”

“When did we make that arrangement?” he lies.

You snap your head back at him as soon as he finishes, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Back at the hangar before we left,” you say, refreshing his pathetic memory. “Nat and Steve can vouch for me. Hell, F.R.I.D.A.Y. can vouch for me.” You smirk as she speaks on cue.

“Playing back hangar audio number 5821: ‘Fine. You do your job the right way, and I’ll make something for you’.“

The sound of Tony’s voice resonating through the room makes you smile widely. Steve chuckles beside you and Nat smiles also. Tony sighs and turns around, heading to his lab.

“I’m right on it!” he yells.

“I know you make things to make us look cool, but don’t dress me like an idiot!” you shout.

You don’t hear a reply. You wanted to draw up some simple designs first, but this is Tony Stark. He built his Iron Man suit because he’s a genius. And not a bad designer anyhow. He’s definitely not an idiot, so you’ll trust his judgment. And if you don’t like a certain element of the uniform, you can just ask him to change it. Simple as that.

Remembering that you definitely have to write in your journal now, you excuse yourself to your room, locking the door so no one sees what you’re doing. Opening to a blank page, you begin writing about your first mission.

_Entry 27                                                                   Thursday June 2 nd, 2016_

_I had my first mission in San Francisco today._

_It was easy-going at first. Take down a handful of HYDRA agents at an old checkpoint. Steve and Nat took care of everything while I kept watch. Tony was doing his own thing outside. Surveillance or something. A few bombs went off. What went from five HYDRA agents turned into twenty. We chased them all downtown to the Transamerica Pyramid. Steve and Nat went on while I stayed behind to take care of some fires from the bombs and get people to safety. I helped them afterwards, taking down a few agents myself. Got punched a few times, but we won nonetheless. My back got slammed into a cement post because I took too long to dispose of a bomb. Dumbass. Tony promised to make me a suit if I did well today. Lo and behold, I’m getting one. The man said it himself. “Pretty well, actually” were his exact words. Leaving out the “doing as I was told like a good little girl”, he was very genuine. The news loved me too. So… that was a first._

_I’m getting a suit, and I decided on my name: Phoenix. I was also thinking about using more fire related names like Pyro, Firewall, Blackfire, Supernova and the like. But ‘Phoenix’ is more majestic, and like Nat said, “has a nice ring to it”. I don’t want Sam to go ham on me because he’s already got a bird-themed name, but I don’t care. A phoenix could kick a falcon’s ass any day (Not like I’m gonna tell him that, though). I have yet to tell the rest of the team. Only Nat knows so far. Fingers crossed that they like it and don’t make fun of me for choosing a mythical creature as my alias._

_Today was an overall great day. I kicked some HYDRA ass, I get a (hopefully) durable uniform, and I picked a name for myself. But the one thing, the. One. Thing. That is, and probably will forever bug me, is that whenever HYDRA is mentioned, my thoughts go straight to Steve’s best friend, Bucky Barnes._

_It’s not like I_ want _to think of him (or do I?) whenever HYDRA is involved, but_ damn _I just cannot think of anything else. Looks aside, it angers me to the core that he’s not the same person anymore, and he never will be, no matter how hard he tries. I say these things like I know him, but I only know what the internet and Steve tell me. I want to meet him. No; I_ need _to meet him, so I can have some… closure, I guess? I don’t know what else to call it. I can’t describe the feeling. It’d be hard to find him, though. He’s not the kind of person that wants to be found. He’s a wanted man, so there’s no way he’s going to come out of hiding. Unless the rest of the team is hiding his location from me, I have no way to search for him. “Hiding” is probably the wrong word to use. They’re not telling me about him because maybe they feel they don’t need to tell me about him; it’s irrelevant to what they do everyday, so why tell me? I hope I do find out, though. It’d be nice to know something else about the infamous Bucky Barnes._

_Other than those few things, I have nothing else to say. So this is the end for today._

_Entry end._

_P.S. Maeve is loving the updates._

It takes you a whole ten minutes to finish your entry. You throw your pencil on your desk and tuck your journal away in the crevices of your bed. You’d die of embarrassment if anyone found it. Invasion of privacy is a  _huge_  no-no for you, as it should be for anyone. You’d roast anyone who’d read it. But if they keep it to themselves and discuss it with you privately… maybe you’ll just toast them. They still read it, but had the decency to tell you.

It’s around dinner time, so you emerge from your room again and begin to make something for yourself. After rummaging through the freezer, you decide on quesadillas. Everyone has since left the kitchen, leaving you alone. You pull out your phone and skim through your music.

“Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Is there a dock system in the kitchen too?”

“Unfortunately not,” comes her reply. “But I can play any song you request.”

“Really? Nice. Ummm. Let’s start with ‘Hello’ by Hedley.”

“Of course. Playing ‘Hello’ by Hedley.”

Your mood is instantly lifted as the song starts to play, your heart bursting with happiness. You sing loudly and off-key because you just don’t care. You sway your hips as you chop up the peppers and onions, then set them aside to get working on the chicken. It’ll take a while, so you spend your time dancing freely and singing to every song that F.R.I.D.A.Y. plays for you, foreign and English. Twenty minutes later, Vision comes wandering in from smelling the kitchen.

“Good evening, _______,” he greets you.

You scream in response, not hearing him come in from the volume of the music. F.R.I.D.A.Y. turns it down without asking so you can talk with him. Heart now hammering for a whole other reason, you place your hand on your chest and smile sheepishly.

“Hey, Vision,” you say, cheeks red from embarrassment.

_It’s still so weird seeing him wear a goddamn sweater vest._

“It smells delightful in here,” he comments, rounding the counter to see what you’re making.

“It’s quesadillas,” you answer, pushing the chicken around with the spatula. “I don’t think you’ve ever had them before. Or, anything, really.”

“I have not,” he confirms. “The scent is very pleasing still.”

“Thanks. Now I know that I’m not burning it,” you laugh.

He smiles in response, stepping beside you and leaning against the counter, watching you cook. F.R.I.D.A.Y. plays the next song, which is “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen. You immediately get into the mood, singing passionately at a reasonable volume since Vision is here now. He smiles as he watches you have fun. During the bridge, he speaks up again.

“_______?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you afraid of your power?”

_Being serious all of a sudden, are we?_

You scrunch your nose and shrug your shoulders.

“ _I’m_  not afraid of it,” you reply, thinking about your answer carefully. “It’s more I’m afraid of hurting  _others_. Y’know. The typical thing about accidentally injuring your partner or something. Fire is very destructive, so I have to be careful. Even more so than Wanda. I can’t go burning buildings or exploding gas pipes. So control is key.”

“I see,” he replies. “Control is the key to anything, I suppose.”

“What about you?” you ask as you add teriyaki to the pan. “Are you afraid of what you can do?”

He touches the gem imbedded in his forehead before conjuring up an answer.

“I wish to understand its power,” he says. “I hardly know what it is. According to Thor, it’s one of the Mind Stones. They’re extremely powerful in their destructive capabilities. Just like yourself, I have to use my power responsibly and with care. Otherwise the ending results could be catastrophic.”

Well that was a cheery answer.

You nod your head in understanding, then go to turn off the pan and slide the chicken onto a plate. A question comes to mind as you’re cutting it up, and you squint at Vision, wondering if you should ask. It’s harmless, so what harm could come from it?

“Vision,” you start, eye transfixed on your chicken breasts. “You’re a very unique being.”

“Thank you,” he cuts in.

“You’re welcome,” you say quickly. “Anyway. Your mind is part Ultron, and the rest is filled in by J.A.R.V.I.S., correct?”

He nods.

“When you fought him, what did you do?”

“I don’t believe I know what you mean.”

“Well, like. What was  _your_  role? I know all the other Avengers fought all of Ultron’s robots with their own creative techniques. But, I mean. You can pretty much do anything. You were crucial to the battle against Ultron. So what did you do to slow him down or whatever?”

“Ahhh I see. Well. Since no trace of him could be left behind, I stopped him from escaping through the internet.”

You drop your knife at his answer.

“You… stopped him from escaping through… the  _internet_?” you repeat in disbelief. “Is that even possible? Oh well of course it is because you did it. That’s unbelievable.”

“I suppose it is.”

“Man the things that you could–“

You stop yourself short, realization hitting you like a ton of bricks.

_Vision took away a method for Ultron to escape. Does that mean he can take away memories too?_

You gasp loudly, your eyes widening and your breathing getting shallower. You suddenly get excited, and hack away at your chicken, laughing to yourself. Vision looks at you curiously.

“_______? Are you alright?”

“Oho hooo I am  _better_  than alright, Vision,” you chuckle, the not-so-pleasing smile stretching on your face.

“If you say so.”

Your dinner tastes that much more delicious because of Vision’s appearance. You sit cross-legged on the couch, eagerly biting into your quesadilla as you watch TV. You nearly choke a few times because you’re so thrilled about the new information you gathered. You can’t stop smiling, and whenever an Avenger looks at you, they have a funny look on their face that says “what the hell is she doing?”. You’re most enthusiastic about telling Steve your plan. If he’s willing to go with it, you’ll be the happiest person in the world, and hopefully so will he. You scarf down what you have left of your dinner, and dash around the compound until you find Steve.

Not so surprisingly, you find him in the weights room, giving a punching bag hell. He doesn’t listen to music at all, so he hears you sprinting towards him, red in the face and out of breath. You don’t even get distracted by his Dorito back.

“_______? Something the matter?”

You squeal at him, which makes him raise his eyebrows and smile fondly.

“Apparently not,” he corrects himself.

“Steve,” you say hands on your knees and a smile on your face.

“Yes?”

“What if I told you there’s a way to clear Bucky’s memories?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reader’s alias or hero name is “Phoenix”, which I realize is also associated with X-Men’s Jean Grey. I noticed this after I wrote it, and the intention to copy the name was completely unintentional. Because of this, I may change the name to one of the names mentioned in this chapter. Other than that, Bucky is in the next chapter!


	5. The Winter Soldier

“What?”

“I think I found a way to wipe Bucky’s memories!”

Steve can’t believe what he’s hearing. A way to wipe Bucky’s memories? Is that even possible? He sighs and looks down as he unwraps the gauze from his hands.

“Whatever you’re thinking of, it won’t work,” he says passively. Your smile falters a little, but you don’t give up.

“It’s Vision.”

“Vision?”

“Yeah. He told me he stopped Ultron from escaping through the internet. What if he can take away whatever HYDRA put inside Bucky?”

Steve looks up at your determined face, biting the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up if Vision won’t be able to do it. He really wants Bucky to be the way he was before, but he knows that even if Vision takes away HYDRA’S programming, the old 1940s Bucky won’t come back. He never will.

“Have you talked to Vision about it?” he asks, gathering his things.

“Not… Really,” you reply honestly. “I should’ve asked him before I told you, but I was too excited about it.” Your smile is replaced by a look of disappointment. But you’re going to see this through. Steve hasn’t given up on Bucky, so you figure you might as well keep his hopes alive.

“Well, come tell me again if he  _can_  do it,” Steve says as he walks out of the weights room. You stay where you are, hands fisted at your sides.

“I will,” you say firmly. Once Steve is gone, you ask F.R.I.D.A.Y. where Vision is.

Turns out Vision is talking to Wanda outside her room.

_He needs to be more discreet._

You approach him as he has a smile on his face. You really hope you won’t be the person that makes it disappear.

“Vision?” you hesitantly call out.

He turns towards you, smile still going strong.

“Ah, miss _______,” he says. “What can I do for you?”

You stand with your arms behind your back and roll on the balls of your feet.

“Well,” you start, “I was wondering if I could borrow you for a minute.”

“Of course,” he says. “Excuse me, Wanda.”

You take Vision to the living room and stand with your arms crossed, biting your bottom lip.

“What is it, _______?” Vision asks, concern written in his tone.

“I want you to take away one of my memories,” you say with a huff.

“…Pardon me?”

“I. Want you. To take away. One of my memories.”

Vision doesn’t know what to think. He’s a little put-off by the intensity of your gaze, so he reacts slowly and with precision.

“Why would you want me to do that?”

“Because I don’t want to keep re-living it.”

“What is the memory, if I might ask?”

“Just… A scary movie,” you reply pathetically. “I watched it when I was a kid and it traumatized me. Since then I can never stop thinking about it at the wrong times. So I want it gone.”

Vision is silent for a moment. He wants to help you, but he doesn’t know what will happen if he tries.

“I don’t know if I can, _______,” comes his reply.

“Don’t know if you c _an_ , or  _will_?” you retort.

“Will.”

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. You support your elbow in your hand and begin tapping your foot.

“Look, Vision. It’s… Important, to me that you do this. I don’t want to remember it because I really am petrified. Please, Vision. Just try going to the part of my brain that stores memories and get rid of it.”

Vision gives you a sympathetic look, sighing in defeat. He takes a step forward, and hesitantly puts his hands on either side of your head.

“I have never done this before, _______,” he reminds you. “I don’t know what the results could be. It’s dangerous to even think of doing it. So please think this over. I could damage your medial temporal lobe if something goes wrong.”

You look at his hands, then back to him. There is no room to think. You’ve made your decision.

"Do it,” you reply. “I trust you.”

_I hope I’m not going to regret this._

“Please think about the memory so I can find it easier.”

You nod, closing your eyes as he presses his fingertips to your head. You think hard about the movie, scaring yourself a little because you hate it so much. You feel a tingling sensation once Vision starts searching for it. You wince when it gets a little painful, nails digging into your palms. It feels very strange to have Vision doing this, but this is what you want. And hopefully, if it works, the same can be done for Bucky.

The pain gets a little more intense, so you bite your lip to keep your voice down. Vision notices and opts to stop.

“No!” you interject. “Keep going. I’m fine.”

With a reluctant face, Vision continues on until he pulls away everything. Just when you’re about to scream, he lets go. You take a step back and place your hands on your knees, breathing deeply. Swallowing thickly, you look up at Vision. He seems fine. You fix your gaze on the floor as you straighten up, and your heart starts beating a mile a minute. You try to remember the movie, but nothing comes up. Not even the trailer is left behind. You cover your mouth as you gasp, excitingly bouncing on your feet.

“_______?” Vision calls out. “Are you alright? How do you feel?”

"I feel,” you start, smile as big as its ever been, “that you’re a goddamn life saver! It’s gone! I can’t remember it! Not even a little bit of it! Wait. What about you? Do you have my memory now? Or did you do something with it?”

“It’s gone permanently, I hope,” he replies. “I disintegrated it as soon as it came through. Nothing should be left of it.”

“You’re the eighth wonder of this world, I swear to god.”

Vision smiles at your enthusiasm, and because now he has more confidence in himself. He’s taken aback by the sudden hug you give him. He awkwardly wraps his arms around you and pats your back.

"I feel a ‘thank you’ is in order,” Vision speaks up, the hug a little too long for his liking.

“Oh, yeah.” You sheepishly pull away and clap your hands together. “Thank you so so sooo much, Vision. I really appreciate it.”

You give Vision another quick hug before skipping out of there to go find Steve and tell him the good news.

* * *

“Steve Steve Steve Steve Steeeeeeve!”

You rush up and down the halls of the compound, searching every floor for Steve. Running in socks isn’t exactly the safest way to go about the place, with the marble floors and everything, but you couldn’t give two fucks. You’ve never felt happier in your life, and it’s for another person, of all things. But it isn’t just anyone. It’s Captain America, for Christ sakes. You would gladly do this over and over again for someone like Steve.

You find him on the second floor, shooting billiard by himself. You catch your breath before approaching him. Clearing your throat, you press down your shirt and strut up to him, trying to keep your huge smile under control. Steve shoots the cue ball considerably hard, sending one of the balls to the floor. He grunts as he picks it up, and nearly drops it again when he sees you leaning against the edge of the table.

“_______,” he greets you.

“Hello, Steve,” you reply cheerily. He gives you a weird look before putting the stripped ball back and taking his position.

“Something else wrong?” he questions, treating the cue ball with a little more care.

“I wouldn’t say ‘wrong’,” you chirp, swaying your hips a little. “More like ‘fantastic’ or ‘great’ or ‘fucking fabulous’.” He glares at you. “Oops. Sorry. ‘Freaking fantastic’.”

“And why is that?”

“Beeecause I don’t remember a thing about a scary movie I used to hate with all my fiery being.”

He nods in understanding. He sighs as he moves along to the other side of the table, leaning over the table as he makes up his next shot.

“I would be too,” he says, closing one eye. “I’m not a fan of scary films either. Why don’t you remember it anymore?”

“You’re tellin’ me. Well…”

You watch as the cue ball sinks one of the solid coloured ones into one of the far corners. Steve chalks up his cue stick before moving to the other side of the table again. You decide to be cheeky and whisper your happy news right as he’s setting up his next shot.

“Because Vision just took it away.”

Steve sends the cue ball flying into a nearby glass cabinet. This only makes you happier, because you love the sound of glass shattering. Steve stands up straight and looks down at you, a small frown on his face.

“Vision did what?” he asks.

“He took my memory of the movie away,” you repeat.

Steve sets his mouth into a thin line. He puts his stick down on the table and crosses his arms. He bites his lip as he looks towards the carpeted floor, shaking his head.

“I don’t…” He shrugs his shoulders, completely speechless.

“I wouldn’t come to tell you if it didn’t work,” you say gently. “You can try it for yourself if you’re still not too sure. But either way, it works! Vision can–oh, wait.” You slump your shoulders when you remember something crucial. “I guess Vision can only do it if we knew where Bucky was. Okay. Scratch every thing I just said. Well, not everything but–ugh you know what I mean.”

Steve flicks his eyes to you. What once was never-ending enthusiasm has turned into disappointment and frustration. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Steve straightens his back and sighs. He should be the one to tell you, since Bucky is the closest thing he has of his old life anymore.

“I know where he is,” he says quietly.

You slowly turn to look at him. He’s completely sincere. He wouldn’t lie to you about something important as Bucky. You have the urge to cry, but you definitely shouldn’t. Steve is the one that should be crying; you have no right. Sucking back those tears, you take a step towards him.

“Really?” you say. “Where is he?”

He looks towards the ceiling, making you do the same. You don’t know what he’s looking at, so you give him a confused look. He mouths “F.R.I.D.A.Y.”, which in turn you mouth “ohhh”. He nods his head towards the door to speak somewhere privately.

Turns out, somewhere “private” is outside, where he pretends to train with you to tell you more. But he doesn’t tell you that.

“So,” you start, clapping your hands together. “Where is–whoa!“

Steve comes swinging at you hard and fast. You react swiftly, taking his attacks with some difficulty.

_Why are you so big?_

“He’s not here,” Steve says through punches.

“If not here,” you pause to dodge his kick, “then where?”

“Wakanda.”

“Wakanda?”

That small distraction earns you a punch to the gut. You gasp for air and go down on your knees, struggling to breathe. Steve helps you up, and you hold your fists in front of you shakily.

“Why not somewhere more remote?” you ask as Steve dives back in. “Like Calcutta or Iceland or something?”

“The guy who helped hide him,” Steve explains, defending himself against your barrage of punches, “is the king.”

“Seriously?!”

“Really.”

You use one of Natasha’s signature moves, wrapping your legs around Steve’s neck and bringing him to the ground.

“We have a long way to go then.”

“Yup.”

You let go when you hear his strangled voice, and quickly stand back up. He doesn’t come after you again. He simply steps forward and claps a hand on your shoulder, giving you a fond smile. “I don’t want to get my hopes up, but I hope this works. You have no idea how much this means, _______. To me, and what it will mean to him.”

Here comes the urge to cry again. You return the smile, nodding happily.

“Let’s go get our friend.”

You begin walking away back into the compound, but Steve pulls you back.

“Not right now, _______,” he says. “We need to wait a few days to make sure that this lasts.”

Your smile falters again, but you nod your head anyway because you know he’s right.

“Sure thing. Is a week a long enough time?”

“We’ll see.”

* * *

The week has passed, and you still don’t remember the movie that Vision took away from you. It’s a complete blessing because you don’t remember it, and because it’s enough to convince Steve to take you to Bucky.

It takes a little convincing to get Vision to come along, on the other hand. Okay, it took a lot of convincing to get Vision to come along. It’s best not to lie to him, seeing as he can do… Pretty much anything. And he’s not an idiot. He could get it out of you as easily as he walks through walls. Plus, Steve isn’t really one to lie either. Vision’s idea of a relaxing afternoon is not spent in a palace (apparently) that is seeking refuge to one of the most ruthless assassins out there. You and Steve, well you, practically had to beg Vision not to tell the rest of the team where you were going. You didn’t want to raise alarm, and also because Steve doesn’t want too many of them knowing where he is. Sort of like his own little secret.

So, after an embarrassing ordeal of humiliating yourself for Steve’s sake, Vision agreed to go with you, under the condition that he won’t do this for anyone again.

A couple awkward hours on the jet later, you arrive at the king of Wakanda’s palace where Bucky is currently being kept. According to Steve, he and Sam found Bucky in Bucharest a few months back. He was himself, but not at the same time. After he got hit in the head, Bucky was 99% his normal self. Fearing that people would come after him, Steve reached out to T'Challa–the current king of Wakanda–to help him. They’ve had a few encounters before, Steve and the other Avengers keeping the people of Wakanda safe. T'Challa is simply returning the favour.

Steve also revealed to you that Bucky told him the secret behind HYDRA controlling Bucky to be the Winter Soldier: ten Russian words after an electroshock. Bucky was reluctant to tell Steve about it, but he trusted him enough to let him know. Bucky couldn’t say the words himself, fearing that he would unintentionally activate his darker mind, so he wrote them down for Steve for safe keeping. And in turn, Steve told you.

You can’t see a thing as you land on the airport strip; everything is way too foggy to make out what kind of place it is. You’re greeted by one of T'Challa’s quite intimidating assistants, and lead inside. You take a quick look around outside, seeing and smelling trees and and damp earth.

_This place seems peaceful._

Your heartbeat picks up at the realization that you’re about to meet the Winter Soldier, Steve’s childhood friend, and the only thing he has left of the 40s. You feel out of place, seeing how Steve is the only one with a connection to him. You and Vision are here to support and help him, but Vision probably couldn’t care less about Bucky’s well-being. But you do.

The only thing you can hear is the thumping of your heart in your ears, and the clacking of the the scary pretty lady’s heels. You’re definitely more nervous than Steve is. This was entirely your idea, and if it doesn’t work, then you’re to blame. Vision took away a small memory of a movie you barely remembered but were still frightened nonetheless. Taking away something more horrific, and took years of conditioning and torture to control won’t be as easy.

You’re lead upstairs to the medical facility where T'Challa is waiting for you. You contemplate on putting your mask on, but you don’t for two reasons: one, you don’t want to make the king of Wakanda hostile towards you because you’re concealing your identity from him. And two, because you don’t want Bucky to feel anxious or have flashbacks because you’re covering your face like he did during missions. You squeeze it in your pocket though, just to make sure it’s still there.

T'Challa smiles as he turns around, and shakes Steve’s hand.

“Welcome back, Captain,” he greets him, in his heavy accent.

“T'Challa,” Steve says back. “How’s he been?”

“His vitals are stable and there have been no accidents,” he replies. “He is still in cryo. We are going to wake him up in a moment.”

“Thank you for this,” Steve says. “For keeping him safe, and allowing us here again.”

“It’s the least I could do,” T'Challa says, retracting his hand and putting it behind his back. He turns his attention to you. “I do not believe I’ve met this young one, here. What is your name?”

You thought he wouldn’t know Vision, but you are certainly wrong about that. You take a step forward and clear your throat.

“I’m _______ __________, your highness,” you say. “The newest addition to the Avengers.” You put out your hand just as T'Challa does. He brings your hand up and kisses it before letting go. You definitely were not expecting that, given the surprised redness in your cheeks. He nods at Vision.

“Please follow me,” T'Challa says, walking down the hall. You keep looking around you. Everything is glass and super clean; it tickles your love of cleanliness. You nearly run into Vision when everyone stops. You look around him, and your eyes widen.

T'Challa opens the door to the glass encased room, with Bucky in the dead centre of it, resting comfortably in his cryo tube. Steve doesn’t react much. He just puts his hands in his pockets and sighs as he stands in front of it, a sad smile on his face.  _You’re_ just trying not to react too much. It’d be a little weird that you’re more emotional about this than Steve is. You’ve never met Bucky before, so you have no right. Even more so when the only things you know about him are about what you read in the museum and on the internet. You don’t know the real Bucky Barnes. 

You already know he’s incredibly gorgeous. The only way he looks different from his pictures from the 40s is his long hair and the stubble he’s grown. He looks even better up-close. His metal arm reflects the fluorescent lights, and you’re captivated in it. It’s an incredible piece of work. His face is as peaceful as it could be while in a cryo freeze. You’re actually a little jealous, because while he’s safely secured in a deep sleep, you’re out living in the hell that is 2016. But considering the circumstances, it’s best not to think that way.

T’Challa stands beside Bucky’s tube, arms crossed as he looks him up and down as he speaks.

“He will need some attending to before he is prepared to speak with you,” he says. A doctor hands him a clipboard, and he flicks through the papers. “After some nutrition and medicinal needs he will be okay. I wanted you to see him before he comes back out.”

“Of course,” Steve replies. “Thank you.”

T’Challa smiles at the three of you and leads you back out so you can watch the process from the other side. Vision hasn’t said a word since you landed. You bite your inner cheek as you cast a quick glance up at him. He’s staring straight at Bucky, expression unreadable.

_Maybe he’s preparing himself? Or second-guessing? Oh god pleeease don’t be second-guessing. I’ll roast your synthetic ass._

You take a step away from Vision to be on your own for a second. Standing up straight, you cross your arms and sigh through your nose. You have no idea how this is going to play out. How will Bucky react? Will he want his memories taken away? Hopefully. Will he be physically and mentally ready to handle the process? Should you have waited a little longer? Should you wait longer now, until he’s up and walking? A day maybe? Give him and Steve the chance to talk more? All of these thoughts are running through your head as T’Challa’s medical staff opens the cryo tube. Your chest tightens as the cold vapor escapes the tube and Bucky slowly opens his eyes.

He’s confused at first, wondering why the hell he’s being released from his safety compartment, when his eyes land on Steve.

“Steve?”

There goes your heart.

Of course the first words that comes out of his mouth when he wakes up from frozen hell is his best friend’s name. His brows knit together in even more confusion. His face is stuck like that the more he stares at him. You lean forward to look at Steve; he’s smiling and mouthing “Hey, Buck.” Your eyes widen because he looks like he’s going to start crying. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to cry in front of his best friend whom he hasn’t seen in forever because of unfortunate events. Or maybe he’s holding back tears of happiness. Either way, your heart lurches at the tender sight.

There’s some recognition in his face when he looks at Vision, but he bypasses him without a second thought and his gaze lands on you. He blinks in surprise, his lips parted. Your heart races as he looks at you like that.

_What’s he thinking right now?_

Bucky looks back at Steve and says “Who’s she?”

Deadpan. Straight to the point.

_Guess that answers that._

Even though Steve can’t hear him, he’s known Bucky long enough to read his lips. Steve smiles and looks at you, though you’re not facing him. You’re still staring at Bucky as the doctors take his vitals. Steve puts a single finger up to Bucky, mouthing a “one second”.

“T’Challa?” Steve calls out.

“You may go in,” he says.

Looking at you and Vision, Steve nods his head to the side, motioning you to follow. You still keep a distance from Steve and Vision as you enter the room again, hands behind your back. You’re hidden by the testosterone wall, which makes you a little happy. You’re already nervous as it is. Now you’ll be the one to explain why the three of you decided to show up and wake him from his sleep.

“Why am I awake?” you hear Bucky say.

_Goddamn he has a nice voice._

“There’s not one way to say this,” Steve starts, “but we have something that could help you.”

“’We’?”

“_______?”

________?_

Steve, Vision, and T’Challa step aside, allowing you to step forward and present yourself. You fold your hands in front of you and look down at the floor before facing Bucky. You don’t stare at his metal arm because you don’t want to make him uncomfortable, but chances are, he already is.

“Hi,” you begin shyly. “I uh. I-I’m _______, as Steve said. To put it simply, I may have found a way to help get out whatever HYDRA put inside you.”

You were hoping for a visible reaction, but he doesn’t do anything that pleases you. He simply has his mouth open, eyes flickering back to Steve.

“Who is she?” he asks firmly.

“She’s a new member of the team, Buck,” Steve says calmly. Bucky looks back at you, still skeptical about what you just said. He shakes his head and laughs dryly.

“No,” he says in disbelief. “There’s just­–no. There’s no way you can get it out.”

“Buck,” Steve says seriously. “You said that until they figure out how to get this stuff out of you, it’s best that you go back under. Don’t you see what this means? _______ found a way. It’s astonishing that we didn’t think of it beforehand, but that doesn’t matter. The point is that she found a way, Buck.”

“Through what?”

“Through me.”

Vision takes a step forward, and Bucky gives him a look.

_Guess they didn’t have a very good encounter._

“Who’re you?”

_GUESS NOT._

“I am Vision,” Vision says. “Half-created by Ultron and Mr. Stark. I am a synthetic being.”

Bucky doesn’t seem to understand, which is obvious. He doesn’t know what the hell is going on. Two new strangers stand before him, telling him that his affiliation with HYDRA can be demolished, and he doesn’t believe it. He doesn’t believe it, or he’s just trying to comprehend that what he has inside his head will be no more.

Bucky is confused beyond relief. He looks around at everyone and shakes his head, looking at his hands. He balls his metal hand into a fist. You can hear the plates sinking into place as he moves it, and you can’t help but love the way it sounds. So precise and fluid. Bucky steps out of his tube, legs wobbling a bit, but he manages. He breathes in deeply, closing his eyes and shakily letting it out.

“I hope you’re not lying, Steve,” he says, chuckling breathlessly. “Or I’ll kick your punk ass.”

“I hope I’m not either,” Steve agrees. “And I’d like to see you try. But _______ has already tested out the method. It works. So she claims.”

“Steve. You know I wouldn’t lie to you if it didn’t work,” you remind him.

“I know, _______. But I can’t be sure unless–“

“Steve. You flew half-way across the world because you believed me. Walk the talk, would you?”

Steve sighs and nods, tossing away his anxiousness and crossing his arms.

“Okay. I just want to make sure it works.”

“And how is it going to work?”

All attention is back on Bucky, his eyes searching for something to believe in. Vision doesn’t even look real, but the mystery behind your words has his stomach in knots. He doesn’t know whether to feel grateful or scared. It’s definitely a mix of both. He wants all of this HYDRA bullshit gone, but he’s afraid of how that will happen. And if it really does work. You speak up before Vision does.

“Vision is the one that will be taking away your memories,” you say softly. “Since he stopped Ultron from escaping through the internet, I assumed he could take away memories. And he did. He took away a bad one of mine, and I can’t even remember a second of it.”

“Is it permanent?”

“So far.”

He’s beginning to relax the more he hears about this technique’s chance of success. He doesn’t fully have faith you because he’s just meeting you, but he trusts Steve’s word. And if Steve says it works, even though he doubted it as well, then Bucky will go along with it.

“How does it work?”

“Vision here will–“

You’re cut off by the raging volume of your embarrassing anime themed ringtone. Your mouth drops, and you stare blankly at Bucky for a few seconds before registering the situation. Your hands shake as you retrieve your phone, and you drop it on the floor, cursing quietly before picking it back up and answering it, turning away from the others.

“Hello? Mom? Máthair? Tá mé ceart go leor… Tá mé ar… laethanta saoire, go dtiocfadh leat a rá… Uimh? Conas is féidir liom a fháil i dtrioblóid leis grianghrafadóireacht? Níl mé paparazzi… Yeah yeah a fhios agam… Dé hAoine? Níl a fhios agam más féidir liom… Tá mé rud… Díreach an rud, mamaí… Le Maeve… Táimid ag dul amach le roinnt cairde ag ól agus cibé, mar sin ní féidir liom teacht abhaile… Agus ní féidir leat teacht suas anseo! Mar a dúirt mé mar sin… Gan an deireadh seachtaine seo… B'fhéidir gurb é an chéad cheann eile, maith go leor? Slán.”

_“Hello? Mom? Mother? I’m okay … I’m on a … vacation, you might say … No? How can I get in trouble with photography? I’m not paparazzi … Yeah yeah I know … Friday? I do not know if I can … I have a thing … Just a thing, mom … With Maeve … We’re going out with some friends drinking and whatever, so I cannot come home … And you cannot come up here! As I said so … Not this weekend … Perhaps the next one, okay? Goodbye.”_

You quickly hang up and put your phone away before explaining yourself again.

“Anyway, Vision–what?”

Everyone, including the doctors, stare at you in shock. You widen your eyes and shake your head, silently asking them to tell you what the hell is wrong.

“Y-You–“ Steve starts, still not knowing what to say.

“I?” you echo, dragging it out and rolling your wrist to get him to continue. You get impatient when he can’t spit it out. “What? Just say it already!”

“I believe that you were speaking Gaelic, no?” Vision finally says. You blink at him and scoff.

“Yeah? Is that such a big surprise?”

“I didn’t know that you could speak Gaelic,” Steve adds.

“Well. Now you do. Not the most popular language to learn, but why the hell not? Anyway, can we get back to this please?”

Steve puts his hands up in apology, allowing you to keep going.

“Thank you,” you say, turning on your heel to face Bucky again. “Anywayyy. Yes. Vision will be the one taking them away. He’ll enter your medial temporal lobe where memories are stored, pull them out, and get rid of them for good.”

Bucky pulls a face, scrunching his nose and squinting.

“It sounds crazy, I know,” you tell him. “But it works. It’s a little painful near the end, but really it works. All you need to do is think about the memory to make it easier for Vision to find.”

“How can I trust you?” he asks.

“I guess you can’t,” you sigh, shoving your hands in your pockets. “But you trust Steve. And he trusts me. I wouldn’t be doing this if it wouldn’t help you.”

“And why do you want to help me?”

_Okay you gotta get on his good side somehow. Just be honest._

“Because…” You stare at the floor and bite your bottom lip. “You didn’t deserve this. What they did to you, how they did it… It’s wrong on all levels. And I don’t want you to be afraid of yourself. That’s not how a person should live.”

Bucky calms down quite a bit when he sees how genuine and serious you are about this. He softens his face and gives you a small smile. You’ll take it.

“Is he ready yet?” you ask T'Challa. He looks at one of his assistants at the computer. She nods in approval.

“I assume he will be alright for this procedure,” he says.

“Great. Vision?”

“Yes?”

“Are  _you_  ready?”

He takes one last look at Bucky, then at Steve, then back to you. You know he doesn’t want to do this, but you promised him this would be the last time. You don’t know if it takes a toll on Vision too, but he hasn’t mentioned it or complained about anything, so you assume he’s okay. But after extracting Bucky’s hellish memories… You’re not so sure.

“It would be better if Mr. Barnes sat down,” Vision says as Bucky prepares himself. “This may make you light-headed.”

Bucky nods and sits down on a bed, placing his palms on either side of him. Steve stands to his right and you to his left, the both of you with your arms crossed. Bucky casts Steve a glance, smiling sheepishly.

“Never thought that this is why I would wake up,” he says. “To have my mind cleared instead of it being used against me.”

Steve smiles and grips his shoulder.

_Give him a goddamn hug already. Jesus._

“I wouldn’t wake you up for that,” Steve says with a smile. Bucky returns it, and also gives you one before he faces Vision. Vision places his fingertips on either side of Bucky’s head and looks in his eyes.

“As _______ said, please think about the memory to make it easier for me to find.” Bucky nods and closes his eyes, huffing out a deep breath before concentrating.

You keep your eyes on Bucky instead of Vision to let Vision focus, and to see how Bucky will react. Probably in a similar manner to you, but a little more powerful. His memories are much more traumatic than yours, so it’s gonna hurt.

You can see Vision’s eyes switching and changing like a pad lock from your peripherals.

_Seems like he’s working hard._

Bucky whimpers quietly, and you immediately regain your focus on him. He begins to grip the bed sheets a little tighter, and he knits his brows together. Steve casts you a look of concern, but you wave him off and tell him it’s gonna be alright. Since Steve is seeing this for the first time, it’s no surprise that he has a whole list of concerns flowing through his mind. Bucky’s safety is his number one priority. He just wants him to be okay above all else.

Bucky grunts the longer Vision continues. Veins pop on the sides of his forehead and his eyes twitch in discomfort. You begin to wonder what he’s seeing. HYDRA’s torture, abuse, brainwashing. His trigger words that make him into the Winter Soldier. The more his face contorts in pain, the more it tugs at your heart strings.

_He’s gonna be fine. It’ll work out. You’re not wrecking him. You’re helping him. He’s gonna thank you for this. Dear gOD I hope he thanks me for this…_

The reassuring words you say to yourself slowly begin to shatter when Bucky hisses through his teeth. Vision hasn’t even blinked. No one’s really worried about him at the moment; all eyes are on Bucky, ready to give him aid if needed. Steve’s expression hurts to look at, because he looks so damn sad and concerned. Very appropriate emotions for what he’s seeing right now.

“Focus, Mr. Barnes,” Vision warns him.

“I am,” Bucky growls.

_Oh dear god please don’t tell me this isn’t going to work. It has to. IT HAS TO. He cannot be left like this. Please please please pl–_

Bucky groans in pain and bites back a yell. At this point, you’d tell Vision to stop, that it’s clearly hurting Bucky, but you don’t. You know how bad it is to say that he’s been through worse so he can handle a little migraine, so you steer yourself in a different direction, saying that this needs to happen in order for him to live a somewhat normal life. He cannot take back all the crimes he was forced to do, but you’re going to make damn well sure that he doesn’t do anything like that again.

Bucky’s struggling to stay still and keep his voice down. His chest is heaving, and you can tell he’s fighting back the tears. You watch as his fists shake, and the sweat roll down his forehead. Vision doesn’t even flinch. But he’s not the one that’s undergoing physical and mental pain at the moment. He’s simply trying to take it away.

Steve wants to do something. You can tell in the way he licks his lips and taps his foot that he’s ready to rip Vision’s hands away. You shake your head at him, silently asking him to stay put. The process isn’t over yet, and you don’t know what will be left in Bucky’s mind if Vision pulls away too early.

_It must be over soon, right? It’s been way too long already. How much is Vision erasing? All he needs is the words. So what else is he doing?_

You stare at Vision with curiosity, wondering just what the hell he’s doing. This seems a little too much if he’s only searching for ten words. You’ll question him after in private back at the compound. Hopefully everyone won’t be too perturbed by Bucky’s arrival.

Bucky starts to vocalize, letting his groans and breaths of pain escape him. Hearing it makes you want to tear your ears off. It’s so heartbreaking to see him trying so hard to rid of something that’s shaped him into what he used to be. By now, you can’t take it anymore and start berating Vision.

“Vision, what’s taking so long?”

“Mr. Barnes’ mind is more complex than yours, _______,” he answers without missing a beat. “I have a lot to go through.”

“But if he’s thinking about it, you should have found it by now,” you point out.

“_______, please. Let me finish without disturbance.”

You ball your hands into fists and glare at Vision.  _He’s definitely hiding something_. Bucky sounds like he’s suffering–which, he probably is–but you can’t do anything to stop it. He has to go through this. He has to.

“Ahh. Ahhhh. Ahhhhh!”

You can’t take it anymore. You turn around and plug your ears, waiting for him to stop screaming. You don’t care if everyone judges you for it because they’re probably the same screams he cried when HYDRA was tormenting him. And you didn’t want to hear it. After what seemed like forever, you remove your hands from your ears and open your eyes. Turning around slowly, you see Bucky panting as he supports himself on the bed. He’s gone pale, and it seems like he’s staring off into space. Steve grips his shoulders and shakes him a little to get him to snap out of it.

“Bucky? Buck? Are you alright? Bucky?”

After blinking a few times, Bucky slowly sits up and nods his head. He runs his metal hand through his hair and sighs. He grips the bed sheets again, and shakes his head as he stares at the floor.

“I can’t… remember,” he mumbles.

“You can’t remember what?” you ask calmly, hesitantly walking over to him.

“The words… I can’t… remember the words,” he says.

You and Steve give each other the same mixed expression of surprise and relief. Steve claps a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, gently shaking him.

“You had me worried there, Buck,” he chuckles. Bucky returns the same quiet laugh, and smiles a real smile. He looks directly at you.

“Thank you.”

You smile, still breathing sighs of relief when he thanks you.

“I would do it again,” you say.

“Excuse me. I believe I am the one that needs thanking,” Vision cuts in.

You snort when Bucky gives Vision a look when he asks to be thanked. Vision is intent on getting one, and when Bucky notices this, he mumbles a small “thanks”. Steve smiles at his friend, clearly amused by his stubbornness.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Barnes,” Vision says with a nod.

As Steve and I are quietly celebrating the success with smiles and laughs, T'Challa takes a step forward.

“I am glad that you have found peace, Mr. Barnes,” he says. “You can stay here until you are ready to leave.”

“Leave?” Bucky says.

“With us,” Steve says. “If you want. I’d love to have you back, but it’s your choice.”

To Bucky, this is great news. He can go home with Steve, but it’s everyone else that’s keeping him from saying yes. Tony will certainly have a problem with it, Natasha may be indifferent, and Sam… You don’t know about Sam. He’s kind of hard to read at times. When Bucky doesn’t reply, you take the opportunity to drag Vision outside to talk.

“We’ll be back in a second.”

Bucky and Steve watch your retreating back as you stand in the hall with Vision. They may not be able to hear you, but they can definitely still see you through the glass. After the door is securely shut, you cross your arms and glare at Vision.

“What did you take?”

“His trigger words, as you said.”

“Are you sure that’s all?”

“What are you insinuating, _______?”

You sigh heavily, and shake your head. It’s not clear if he’s telling the truth, because you’re not that great at reading expressions. But compared to how long it took to take your memories away, Vision took his time with Bucky. Sure, he had a little more to dig through, but it couldn’t have taken him that long could it?

_Maybe I’m over-thinking this…_

You look to your right, seeing Bucky and Steve talk about Bucky’s new living quarters if he’s willing to come back with you. You’re chastising Vision because of Bucky. It’s for his benefit. So what if Vision took more than what he was supposed to? It’s a good thing, right? Give Bucky less terrible things to think about. You decide to let it go.

“Fine,” you say after a long pause. “Whatever. Just as long as he doesn’t remember his trigger words, I’m game.” You fiddle with your lighter in your one pocket, and your mask in the other. Your two most important things, the only source of calm when you’re stressed. You walk around Vision while still looking through the glass and go back inside to join Steve and Bucky.

“What was that about?” Steve asks, nodding towards Vision. You wave him off.

“Just clearing up a few things,” you say. “So. Have you guys made a decision?”

“Buck’s agreed to come home with us,” Steve says with a smile. “He’s gonna have to stay put for a while, so you’re gonna keep him company.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Steve.”

“Why me?”

You both reply at the same time, giving Steve glares. He puts his hands up in defence.

“Well, you’re still weak first of all, Buck. You need to gain your strength back.” Bucky scoffs. “And _______. You’re the newest recruit. You’ve had the least amount of time in the field, but your power is pretty resourceful. Keeping you with him seems like a good idea to me.”

That makes you think. “Keeping _you_  with  _him_ ” is entirely different than “keeping  _him_  with  _you_ ”. But they both do sound like he needs a babysitter nonetheless.

“Okay,” you agree. “He obviously doesn’t need a babysitter, so I’m gonna be his friend instead.”

Bucky was definitely not expecting that answer. His mouth drops a little and he stares at you. His stare is something you could probably get used to, despite how nervous you feel under his gaze. You clap your hands together, keeping your eyes on Steve, and begin walking out.

“Okay. Well. I’m gonna go back to the jet and uh… Wait, for you guys there with Vision. Glad to have you on board, James.”

“My name is Bucky,” he corrects you. You smile sheepishly.

“Yes. Glad to have you with us, Bucky. See you guys in a few minutes.”

You walk out of there pretty quickly and loop your arm in with Vision’s and tug him along.

“Just keep walking,” you quickly whisper to him. “Don’t look back.”

Vision is puzzled by your behaviour, and looks back anyway. He sees Steve and Bucky giving each other bewildered looks, but are smiling nonetheless. He doesn’t know what you said, but it had an effect on both of them. He goes with you anyhow, deciding to question you at a later time. The smile doesn’t leave your face the whole flight home.

 


	6. Fitting In

You discuss with Steve on the jet about letting everyone know of Bucky’s arrival at the compound. Steve is the one who decides to alert everyone, since Bucky is his friend, and because he can handle their reactions better. Bucky is asleep when Steve calls Tony, Natasha, and Sam. You and Vision were silent the entire time, watching Steve take care of things. Tony has the biggest reaction, but you can’t tell if he was being funny because Steve was smiling a little. You lose interest after a while, opting to move to a different seat. Specifically, to an empty chair across from the couch where Bucky is still sleeping.

Even though he changed from his white sweats and tank top to a pair of jeans and a red long-sleeved shirt, there’s not a blanket over him. Your mother always said that a person should always have a blanket with them if they fall asleep in spontaneous places. It’d benefit him because he won’t get the chills, and also you because you’ll get a great deal of pleasure from it. Getting up from your seat, you shuffle to the cupboard before the bathroom, and pull out a fluffy black blanket. You unfold it as you walk over to Bucky, keeping your balance as you go through some turbulence. You’ve only flown once in your life, but it makes your stomach queasy. Turbulence doesn’t help your nausea at all, either, but you bear with it.

Holding the blanket long-ways, you gently place it over him, making sure it doesn’t tickle his face to wake him up. You flick your eyes up towards Vision because you can feel him staring at you. You pay him no mind, giving Bucky a small smile before returning to your seat. You pull your hood over your head and put your mask on. You don’t want Bucky to see with with it on, anxious that you might unintentionally trigger something in him, but he’s fast asleep. You’ll take it off when he wakes up. You kick off your shoes and pull your knees to your chest, plugging in your music to shut out Steve and Vision.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky peeks at you with one eye as you’re staring out the window, smiling softly before going back to sleep.

You nap for about thirty minutes before being woken up by more turbulence. You groan in both frustration and pain. Your neck is stiff again from your head being in an awkward position. You rip out your headphones and look at the time. There’s still a few hours left before you arrive back at the compound. You sigh as you pull your mask down and rub the sleep from your eyes. You notice that Steve is asleep after your eyes have adjusted to your surroundings. Vision is silently reading since he doesn’t sleep, and gives you a small nod when he sees you’re awake. You nod back as your face contorts in discomfort as you stretch your arms and legs. You stop mid-stretch when you notice that Bucky isn’t on the couch anymore.

_Bathroom, probably._

When you look out your window again, you notice how dark it’s getting. You groan in annoyance, and in fear. You’ve never flown when it was raining, let alone in a thunder storm. The turbulence was bad enough. You didn’t need another reason to feel uncomfortable on a plane. Just to be sure, you get up and go to the cockpit to ask the pilot if you’re headed into a storm.

“We should be out of it in as little as an hour,” he says.

 _An_  hour _? I’ll be dead in ten minutes from a panic attack if it gets too bad._

Sighing, you return to your seat, nearly running into Bucky on the way.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

He gives you an exhausted, disgruntled look. You can’t blame him for being tired and a little pissed off at the same time. Being woken up out of cryo, staying awake for a few minutes, then falling back asleep again can’t feel very good. Nevertheless, he mutters an “it’s okay” before curling up back on the couch, wrapping the blanket around himself. You sit with your back to the window, knees to your chest, head resting on the back of your chair. You try so hard not to stare at Bucky, because he looks pretty good when he’s tired and cranky. He’s pouting and his brows are furrowed together. Either he’s mad at being woken up, or he’s thinking too hardly about something.

_Probably both._

Pulling out your phone, you go to Snapchat and discreetly snap a picture of Bucky before sending it to Maeve with the caption “meet tws jbb”. Because of the time-zone differences, she won’t answer it for a while. Despite being carefree and out-going, Maeve is serious when it comes to school work, which means no distractions. No matter who it’s from.

You save the picture because it’s just too good not to. Seeing Bucky vulnerable and scruffy looking is something you want to remember for the days to come. You just hope he doesn’t get a hand on your phone. Not like he knows how to use it anyway, but still. As a precaution, you’re making your password extra hard to guess.

After changing it, you look up and see Bucky staring at you. But because you like to think of other options, you say to yourself that he’s staring at a spot that he can’t look away from, and you just happen to be in the way. You do it all the time, so it’s not a crazy option to think about. You know you’re not the only person in the world that does it. Maybe Bucky does too.

But you can’t help but wonder.

You cross your arms and think about other things, like how Tony’s going to react when you arrive back at the compound. Or when he finds out that this whole plan was your idea. You know Tony isn’t cold-hearted enough to not give you your new suit when he’s finished, but maybe his childish attitude is. And that’s something you would gladly smack the silly out of. Natasha truly is a mystery. She hides her emotions well and keeps her reactions to new things under control. You just imagine she’s suffering in her own turmoil, or is literally indifferent about things. Wanda is practically in the same boat as you, not knowing a lot about who Bucky really is besides from rumours and what’s online. She can relate in that way. As for Sam… He’ll probably have a love-hate relationship with Bucky. Bucky was, and still is, Steve’s best friend. But Sam is catching up to him. Steve and Sam have a bond together, poking fun and joking around with each other at times. The thought of Sam and Bucky getting jealous of one another for Steve’s attention brings a wide grin to your face. Bucky gives you a confused look, but your smile quickly diminishes when you see the dark grey clouds you’re flying into.

You take your mask off and fold it neatly before placing it back in your pocket. You grip the fabric along with your lighter as you can hear the distant sound of thunder. You love thunderstorms; you just don’t like being stuck in a flying metal container while one is happening around you and could strike the jet down at any moment. Those thoughts aren’t at all pleasant, nor necessary to keep you calm at the moment.

The crack of thunder makes your heart jump, and your spine shiver. You close in on yourself and rest your head on your knees to shield yourself from looking out the window again. Steve sleeps like a rock, so a little thunder won’t wake him up any time soon. Vision is synthetic, along with his mind, so you’re not sure if he feels fear. He looks pretty comfy and composed, so you’re not expecting a response from him either. Bucky, on the other hand, looks a little frightened. You peek through your arms at him. Your mind will always go back to his torture and abuse whenever something remote or natural, like lightning, happens. You wonder if he thinks the same.

When the jet rumbles, you hang onto the table and top of your chair to keep yourself still. You take fast, deep breaths as you stare up at the ceiling. You shake your head and close your eyes, wishing that this would be over already. But as the pilot said, you still have another hour.

“_______? Are you alright?” Vision calls out, noticing your discomfort.

“I’m fine,” you say through your teeth.

“You know,” he starts, closing his book and sitting up. “The chances of a plane being struck out of the sky is one in a million.”

“Vision.”

“And the odds of dying in a plane crash is equal to being hit by lightning seven times.”

“ _Vision_.”

“In fact, as far as anyone knows, the odds are that each airliner in the USA will be hit by lightning once a year, some not at all. But lightning–“

“Vision I swear to god if you don’t shut the fuck up right now I’m gonna light you on fire.”

Vision opens his mouth to say something else statistical and would definitely make you more anxious than you already are, but he shuts it.

“I thought I was making your nervousness less uncomfortable,” he says after a moment of silence.

“Do I look relaxed to you, Vision?” you ask with a glare. He doesn’t answer. “Yeah, didn’t think so. Just… stop with the stats and dying and everything else that will make me strangle you. Notice how I said ‘will make me’ and not ‘want to make me’? Because I will strangle you and set you on fire if you speak another word about thunderstorms and planes in the same sentence.”

Vision immediately backs off and goes back to reading his book. You let out a shaky sigh and mentally slap Vision for being such a pain. He still has a lot to learn about reading people’s body languages and knowing when someone wants you to stop talking about a topic that makes them uncomfortable. As you’re wallowing in your misery, Bucky is silently laughing at you. The smile doesn’t leave his face when you pout at him.

“Bad flyer?” he asks.

“A little,” you answer. “The fact that we’re in a thunderstorm just makes everything ten times worse. Don’t mind me, though. I’ll manage. They said it’d only last an hour.”

You’re curious when Bucky gets up from the couch, your eyes following him as he plants himself across from you. You don’t move from your comfortable position, opting to just turn your head to look at him.

“You can talk to me to get your mind off things,” he offers. You raise an eyebrow at him. he looks back at Steve and Vision. “Steve could sleep through an earthquake, and your other friend failed miserably at trying to calm you down. Why don’t I give it a try?”

You bite your lip. Talking to Bucky would certainly be different, plus he makes good points. You don’t want to wake up Steve anyway, and Vision wasn’t even your first choice. He just started talking. You nod your head at Bucky, agreeing to his suggestion. You slowly turn yourself around to properly sit in your chair, folding your hands in your lap.

“So,” he starts, thinking of something soft to talk about first, “how’d you end up on their little team?”

Easy enough.

“I’m pretty sure Tony found a video of me on YouTube,” you say. “He loves his technology, so he might as well mess around once in a while. They sent Natasha to recruit me. Safest bet, I guess.”

Bucky shifts himself so he’s leaning against the window, his hands also folded in his lap.

“And what is it you can do?”

You fiddle with your lighter in your pocket, drenched in sweat from how clammy your hand has been. You take it out and slide it across the table with a single finger. Bucky looks down at it, then back to you.

“You… create lighters?” he asks. You can only smile.

“Open it.”

He raises an eyebrow, but he takes it in his hand and does so anyway. He flicks the fuel lever, the small flame emitting from the end. You know you shouldn’t do this in a jet of all things, but you’ll make the performance quick. Raising your right hand, you pull the flame from its place and create a small fireball in your hand. Bucky blinks, his eyes wide.

“I’m a pyrokinetic,” you explain, rolling your fingers along the flames. “I can control and manipulate fire, flame, and heat. I’m still working up to  _creating_  it without having to have the source there. It’s proven to be quite difficult.”

You diminish the fire with a flick of your fingers, then put your hand back in your pocket. Bucky hands the lighter back to you, and you put it back where it belongs. You shrug your shoulders when he doesn’t speak after that.

“I’ve only been on one mission,” you say. “I put out some fires, got people out, and injured myself of course. My back still hurts from it. And it still astonishes me that people stand around to take pictures and videos. Hmph. Still gives the news something to freak out about though.”

“What happened?”

You take your phone out and search “San Francisco incident” into Google. Three videos come up, one of which you’ve already seen. You select it and hand it over to Bucky as it plays. The volume is low, but you still know what’s going on.

“It was supposed to be an infiltration,” you explain as he watches it. “What went from like, five men turned into twenty and they blew off a few bombs near the Transamerica Pyramid. It’s a bank,” you add when he looks at you confused. “Anyway, yeah. A few people were killed, a dozen injured and such. We captured the ones that didn’t kill themselves.”

You take your phone away when Bucky’s eyes get too intense the more he watches the video. You tuck your phone away and rest your head against the window. He seems alright, but you’ll never stop wondering if he has flashbacks if he hears a bomb going off or police shooting their guns. It’s a terrible thing to constantly think about.

Seeing as how Bucky is still recovering from watching the video, you decide to ask the next question.

“I’ll try not to be insensitive,” you warn him. He puts his mouth in a thin line but nods his head. “What was Steve like when he was all scrawny and short?”

Bucky chuckles at your question.

"Of all the things to ask me, and you want to talk about Steve,” he jokes.

“Oh, n-no no no!” you defend. “I just… Don’t want to ask you something that’s too personal, so I figured Steve was safe enough…”

Bucky looks over his shoulder at Steve, still sleeping away. He smiles at him, imagining how small he was back in the day. He turns back to you.

“I don’t remember much anymore,” he says sadly. You’re about to ask something else when he continues. “But I do remember that he was a lot smaller than me. Never backed down from a fight. Did anything to enlist in the war. I forget why. Most of me was wiped, but I think he’s basically the same person now, just a lot bigger.”

You give him a small smile. Knowing that much is better than not knowing anything at all. You can tell he tries at times, but HYDRA took too much away. Too many precious memories he had. Now he’s just an empty shell, bits and pieces of his old life floating around, waiting to be remembered.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” you say softly. “Steve really is never one to back down from a fight. If he can stop it first.”

Bucky nods in agreement, that same sad smile appearing on his lips again. Since you’ll be spending quite a lot of time with Bucky, you’ll learn what all his smiles and expressions mean.

“What about you?” he asks. “How did you get your ability?”

A loud crack of thunder distracts you, making you look out the window. It’s completely dark now, and your heart is beating a mile a minute.

“Hey hey hey. Don’t look outside, just look at me.”

You do as Bucky says, tearing your eyes away from the window and only looking at him. As a precaution, you slam the window cover shut to prevent you from looking again. Bucky does the same on his side, but it’s not enough. You get up, shutting all the rest except for the one that Steve is sleeping on. It gets a little darker, making Vision protest because he can’t see the words in his book, but you just ignore him. You take the blanket from the couch and wrap yourself in it like a cocoon. You feel a little safer, but not really.

“Better?” Bucky asks.

You shrug. “A little.”

“Good. I’ll just keep you talking. So it was your idea to do this?” You nod. “Why would you want to help me?”

You sigh loudly and rest your head against the side of the jet, shrugging again. “I uh. I’m not a nosy person. I just like to know things. The whole world practically knows about you, as did I, but I didn’t exactly know everything, y'know? I went to the Smithsonian by myself to learn more about you. What you were like back in the day. Compared to now… It’s tragic, really. The good guy gets brainwashed and tries to kill his best friend. Years of conditioning and cryo. It destroys a person. They can never go back to who they were. I thought that by taking away your triggers and pain, I could help you be the man you were before you were the Winter Soldier.”

You smack your lips together as you finish, letting Bucky process what you just said. He sits back in his seat and nods his head as a smile forms on his face.

“That’s very… It’s… I don’t know what to say. It’s a very considerate gesture of you, doll.”

“‘Doll’?” you laugh. “Is that a term of endearment from the 40s?”

He looks away when he realizes he let that slip. He nods anyway.

“Sorry,” he says. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “In this century, we use… 'Bad’ words, so to say, to refer to the people we like.”

“Bad words?” he repeats. “How is that meant to be a good thing?”

You laugh at his confusion.

_Boy does he have a lot to learn._

“I’m not the one that started it,” you explain. “It kind of just happened on its own. Like, when the person we like does something so simple but they do it beautifully, we say stuff like 'look at this asshole being a little fucker eating his pudding’.” Bucky’s surprised expression makes you laugh even more. “Weird, right? But it’s hilarious, trust me. The internet has a lot to offer to the world.”

"And… Do you do that too?” he asks hesitantly. You keep your smile at bay. “Maaaybe. I don’t say it out-loud, though. It’s too embarrassing.”

“I see.”

On this topic of conversation, it reminds you of something regarding languages. You wonder if Bucky feels the same way.

“You lived in Romania for a while right?”

“Yes.”

“So you can speak Romanian?”

“It’s my first language.”

“Ah. So English is second. Anyway, do you ever feel that saying something in your second language seems easier and less embarrassing than in your first language?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

“Like… If you’re saying something you’re not used to, or it’s incredibly embarrassing, is it easier saying that specific thing in your second language because it doesn’t exactly hold the meaning in your first language? For me, I can’t say sentimental things because I simply can’t. I can’t say them out-loud. In English, anyway. But in Gaelic, I’ll spew that shit like there’s no tomorrow.”

“Ahhh okay. Mmm. I guess so. It’s easy for me to say things in either language, but I’m pretty shameless.”

_Oho ho? Shameless, huh? I’d love to see you prove that._

“Is Gaelic your first language?” You shake your head. “If it was I’d probably have an accent. In elementary we have to learn French because of Quebec, but I wanted to learn another language on the side. So I chose Gaelic. Bitch of a language, but great nonetheless. My mom already knew it, so it was a lot easier.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, who were you speaking to back in the medical room?”

“My mom,” you reply sheepishly. “She wanted to know if she could come down and visit me. I told her I was on a ‘vacation’ so she couldn’t.”

“She doesn’t know about you then?”

“No. None of my family know. Just my roommate. She reacted to it like seeing a puppy in the street. She was so exc–holy mother of Christ that was a big one.”

You cut yourself short when another round of thunder rumbles around the jet. Your stomach is getting the better of you, so you discreetly unbutton and unzip them under the blanket, easing some of the pressure. Bucky doesn’t seem to notice.

“Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted by the goddamn sky,” you start, glaring at the closed windows, “she was excited about knowing what I can do. Not exactly what I was expecting, but it’s a lot better than being feared.” You widen your eyes a little and look up at Bucky, watching his facial expressions after that last comment. He doesn’t seem to react; on the  _outside_  at least.

_Goddammit child you need to stop assuming that he’s thinking about bad things all the time. Well, he probably is considering who he is and–bitch, just shut the fuck up._

“She seems smart,” Bucky smiles.

“Y-Yeah.”

Some tension still hangs in the air, for you anyway, because it’s still thundering outside. But after a few more minutes of talking, you’re feeling much more relaxed. He tells you a few things about himself, what he still remembers about his old life, anything to make you smile and laugh. You keep telling him little things about yourself as well, and a few things Steve told you that he might not have told Bucky himself back in the 40s. Like how Steve jumped out of an elevator hundreds of feet in the air and landing on a marble floor. You leave out the part about Steve being attacked by secret HYDRA agents. Bucky doesn’t need a daily reminder of his captors. Bucky’s reaction was priceless, his jaw dropping and immediately glaring at Steve while he slept, muttering a low “I’m gonna kill him”. Seeing this side of Bucky makes you a hundred times happier that you made the decision to help him.

Before you know it, you’ve passed through the thunderstorm, your anxiety has melted away, and you finally arrive at the compound. You button back up your pants and fold the blanket, smiling a little because it had Bucky’s scent on it the whole time. Kicking Steve awake, you stand at the door with Bucky.

“Time to raise some hell.”

* * *

“What the hell were you thinking, Rogers?” comes Tony’s accusatory voice. You groan loudly enough for him to hear, making him give you a disgusted look.

“Steve wasn’t thinking anything,” you say before Steve can defend himself. “I’m the one that thought of this, not him. So if you’re gonna be a grumpy old man about it, you might as well direct your attitude at the right person.”

“Good,” he says, pointing his finger at you. “Now I know who to punish for doing something so stupid.”

“Do your best, Stark,” you say.

“You don’t get your suit,” he smirks.

“Like I care about that right now,” you scoff. Though secretly you do. Just a little bit.

Tony is a little surprised that you “don’t care”, but he knows you do. He definitely knows. He keeps at it with his rant though.

“I’ll have you explain then,” he starts. “Why would you, of all people, want to help a wanted assassin in practically every country in the world? One who ruthlessly, without a second thought, sliced, kicked, beat, and every other form of pain you can think of? And bring him to the compound, of all places? And you brought Vision, too? For what? A personal audience to your genius?”

_Man does he need to slow his roll._

“Okay, wow, you really don’t like reading between the lines,” you say. “The only thing I’m going to say is that I wanted to help him relieve some of his extremely heavy burdens. Vision’s the one that took away that pain. And I brought him here because it’s safe, Tony. Can’t you let go of your incredibly annoying ego and be a little sympathetic for once? Jesus.”

Tony sighs, shaking his head as he shoves his hands in his pockets, approaching the four of you.

“Fine. I’m nothing if not reasonable.” You roll your eyes. “But I have a few concerns. Like–“

“Well we already decided that he’s not allowed to go into the city for a while,” you interrupt. “Plus, I’ll be watching him, on Steve’s orders. Y’know. Since I have the least amount of experience in the field, according to Steve, then I should be the one to show him around and keep him company and whatever else he needs. Answer your question?”

“I was gonna say that he’s going to need to stay away from my food,” Tony replies. “Just like everyone else. And to not disturb me when I’m busy being a genius?”

“You’re so full of it,” you retort. “But yeah, okay. I’ll tell him where your food is and the exact location of your precious lab so he doesn’t go near it. Satisfied?”

“Not really, but I’ll take it.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re intolerable.”

Bucky exchanges a glance with Steve as you and Tony bicker about nothing. Steve just shrugs his shoulders and smiles a little, easing some of Bucky’s nervousness. He’s now in another unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people. This is going to get some getting used to.

You nod your head back at Bucky, silently asking him to follow you. Steve comes along too, and Vision stays behind to talk with Tony about what happened.

You lead Bucky through the whole compound, except for the basement because there’s not really anything to do down there, nor in the hangar. You even find places that you didn’t know about on the main and second floor, simply because you didn’t explore it that much upon your arrival and free time. You show Bucky all the essential rooms, like the kitchen, living room, balcony, games room, weights room, pool, and places where he can relax. The last trip on the tour is his room. It’s on the same floor as you, just down the hall near the kitchen. He takes everything in, looking around the blank room.

“If you need anything, you can ask any of us. Except for Tony. He doesn’t take too well to–”

“Killers?” Bucky cuts in.

“I was going to say strangers,” you say. He looks at you sympathetically, and nods his head. “And if one of us isn’t here, you can ask F.R.I.D.A.Y. for help.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“She’s Stark’s A.I. system. She pretty much controls this place. Well, not so much  _control_ as in she can show you where to go, dim the lights, show you the weather, and look up things on the internet.”

You can’t see Steve’s face because he’s standing behind you, but going by the same small smile on Bucky’s face, you can only imagine what kind of face Steve is making. You clap your hands together.

“Okay. Well, that was the compound. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go take my pent up anger out on a punching bag with Tony’s face on it.”

You smile at the both of them before taking your leave and changing into your workout clothes.

“She seems nice,” Bucky says when you leave. “Helpful. Doesn’t want to kill me.”

“Yeah, she’s uh. She’s pretty different,” Steve agrees. “But she’s great. You’ll get along with her fine. I’m sure she won’t suffocate you like you’re a child.”

“She’s off my hit list then,” Bucky jokes.

“Glad to hear it,” Steve plays along. “Listen. I’m gonna go downstairs and hit the weights. You’re welcome to join.”

“Thanks. I’ll uh. I think I’ll just sit here for a bit,” Bucky says, settling down on his bed. “Give me a few minutes to take everything in.”

Steve rubs his shoulder and smiles. “Sure thing. I’ll be waiting.”

Steve leaves to go change, leaving Bucky alone to his thoughts. It’s a lot to process for him. Waking up from cryo to be told his trigger words can be taken away. Traveling from his safe haven to a place where he’s not even sure he wants to be. It’s nice to have Steve around, but everyone else irks him. He knows Tony is hostile towards him, given his cranky attitude towards his arrival. Not knowing everyone else makes his palms clammy.

_What if they don’t like me? Would they kill me if it came to that? What am I going to do if I can’t go in the city? Will I go out own my own if I get too bored?_

These mundane thoughts plague his mind. He shouldn’t be worrying about this as much as he is. He knows this is meant to be a safe place; but a safe place from people like him. Being here feels like he’s denouncing its meaning. Why be in a facility where people wouldn’t give a second thought about harming him? He wouldn’t be surprised if someone pulled a gun on him if he got too hostile, too angry, too upset. He’s the infamous Winter Soldier. But he doesn’t want to be known by that name anymore. He hasn’t done things like that in years. Why start again now?

Feeling he’s thinking too much, Bucky takes on Steve’s offer, and begins his way down to the weights room to relieve some stress.

* * *

“Give! I give! Goddammit Steve you’re too heavy I’m done!”

Steve let’s you out of his headlock, laughing as you’re gasping for air. You punch his bicep hardly, but he doesn’t even flinch.

"Your muscles haa. Are literally haa. Going to be haa. The death of me,” you pant. You punch his arm again, but he doesn’t move. You throw your hands in the air. “Unbelievable. I can’t even! Your biceps are probably bigger than my thighs!”

Steve just keeps laughing at your discontent, and soon enough you’re laughing along with him. Steve’s the best training partner. He’s 99% serious when he’s fighting, and 100% serious about laughing after. Getting Sam in there would make everything five times more seriously funny.

“Maybe you just need to try harder,” he teases.

“Oh ho hoooo pulling jokes now are we?” you jest. “You better sleep with one eye open tonight, Rogers.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiles.

You give him another playful shove and go to your punching bag. Before you can wrap your hands up in gauze, the fire alarm goes off. You and Steve cast each other worried looks.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” you call out cautiously.

“There seems to be a fight going on in the kitchen,” she says. “One of them hit the fire alarm.”

“Bucky,” you both say at the same time.

The two of you rush up the stairs, wondering why the hell Bucky would be in a fight. It could //not// be him, but there’s a high probability it is. Who else would be so petty as to start a fight in the kitchen?

_They better not break the island or I’m gonna be pissed._

By the time you reach the kitchen, Steve is already pulling the two apart. It is Bucky fighting, with Sam. You don’t know why it surprises you, since it’s Sam, because he hardly ever starts a fight with anyone.

“Hey hey hey! That’s enough!”

He pushes Bucky and Sam away from each other, the two sending death glares at him. He has his hands up to their chests, trying to keep them calm.

“What’s he doing here?” Sam asks angrily.

“He’s not here to cause trouble, Sam,” Steve says.

“Then what?”

“He's­–”

“He’s living here now,” you cut in, earning a shocked look from Sam.

“He’s  _what_?!” Sam yells. “Why?”

“Because he needs a safe house,” you explain. “It’s not a big deal, Sam.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Spyro,” he says, pointing a finger at you. “Because it is a big deal. You don’t know him, _______.”

“And neither do you,” you spit back. “Steve’s the only one that does. What Bucky’s done in the past is in the past. Why do you think there wasn’t any news about the Winter Soldier for the past few years? It’s because he didn’t  _do anything_. And I made sure he’s not going to do it again.”

Sam calms down a little, but only because you’re the one speaking to him. He stands up straight and crosses his arms, making Steve lower his hands.

“What do you mean you made sure he won’t do it again?” Sam asks.

“Vision took away his trigger words that makes him into the Winter Soldier,” you answer, walking to stand beside Steve.

“And you’re okay with this?” Sam asks Steve. Steve nods. Sam looks at Bucky, blood still coming from the cut on his forehead, and sighs. “Alright. So he’s staying here as long as he stays out of trouble?”

“I would assume so,” you say. “More or less. Depends on what happens.”

You take a look at Bucky now, and your eyes widen when you see the blood on his face. “Well, better stay clear of him then,” Sam says. “Yeah,” you agree, still staring at Bucky’s wound.

“Watch yourself.”

Sam scoffs and shakes his head, and starts to walk away. He claps his hand on Steve’s shoulder, a gesture that he’s okay and calmed down. He gives another glare to Bucky before he leaves the room. Steve sighs, and laughs a little when he sees Bucky’s bloody face.

“Better take care of that,” he says.

“I got it,” you say quickly before Bucky can protest. You have him sit by the island while you grab the first-aid kit. For once, Steve stays to observe.

You take out a large band-aid and some disinfectant. You grab a dry cloth from one of the drawers and rinse it under warm water. You squeeze it out, and begin lightly dabbing at the blood down the side of Bucky’s face.

This is definitely a great time to get a good look at him. It’s kind of hard not to when you’re supposed to be looking at him, but you feel like he’ll know you’re staring. Taking the chance anyway, you admire the features of his face.

How long his eyelashes are, how much stubble he has, the way his eyes flinch when you press a little harder to get the blood away. When he’s looking forward, you take the chance to look at his eyes. They’re a blueish-grey in the artificial light, but maybe a little darker once the lights go down. His face is pretty symmetrical, which you love. His hair is a godsend. You compare with what it looks like now to back in the 40s, and then you think about the meme “get a man who can do both”. You smile at the ridiculous reference. You want to touch it so badly, just like any other time when you see someone with nice hair. Flow your fingers through it, brush it, braid it (though terrible it may be). Hair is one of your favourite things about other people, because it immediately draws you in and gives you a taste of what their personality is like.

You get a little distracted when he licks and bites his bottom lip when you get too close to the open wound. You clear your throat and rinse the cloth, then gently apply it directly to his cut. He winces once, and then he’s done expressing his discomfort. He just stares straightforward, allowing you to do what you need. Once the blood is washed away you grab the disinfectant, dabbing it on a cotton ball.

“This may sting a bit.”

Bucky sighs through his nose and closes his eyes. He does the jaw thing, a sign that he’s disallowing himself from making any noise of discomfort. You toss the ball on the island and rip open the band-aid, and gently stick it on his forehead.

“And you’re done,” you say, gathering up everything you used. “Sam throws a mean swing, so if you feel the urge to throw up, lay down and drink some water.”

Bucky mutters a small “thank you” and hops off his chair. You give him a nod and smile, but it falters when you look at Steve. He’s smiling way too much for your liking.

“What?” you say.

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head.

You roll your eyes and make a face, but forget about it, putting away the kit. Before you go to your empty training room, you turn to Bucky again.

“Make sure you eat something too,” you tell him. “I haven’t marked everything that’s Tony’s, so Steve will help you with that. Though I’m not too sure he knows what they are either. So if you find yourself in a sticky situation because you ate his peanuts, don’t come crying to me. See you guys in about three hours.”

You jog to the training room, your heart beating a mile a minute in your chest because you can still remember the way Bucky smelled; a little musty with a mix of cold air. Cold air is one of your favourite smells, so it’s no wonder you felt so relaxed while patching him up. You mentally scold yourself for being childish, though you don’t know why. You just know you need to punish yourself with one hour of dancing, and two hours of hardcore meditation.

Leaving Bucky and Steve alone once again proves to be best. Steve knows Bucky better than anyone, what his quirks are, his flirting style, how he fights, his sassy remarks. But this Bucky, looking lost and confused, is one that Steve can’t pinpoint his finger on. He doesn’t know what he’s thinking. A minute ago he was stoned-faced, not flinching, and looked a little intense. There were no smart remarks about you being his personal nurse (Steve had a small hope for it but that quickly came crashing down), and Bucky could offer you nothing more than a small “thank you”. Bucky is going to worry Steve like there’s no tomorrow if he doesn’t get to know him again soon.

“You alright?” Steve asks. “You look a little tired.”

Bucky is busy staring off into space, clenching his jaw and staring at the floor. He was so conflicted about what to feel right now. It was a small thing to be upset about, but nonetheless, he was upset about it.

“Bucky?” Steve presses. “Bucky?”

“No one’s ever done that for me in a long time,” he whispers.

“Done what?”

“Treat my injuries.”

The small realization that an unfamiliar person who’s ever put their hands on Bucky’s face whose goal //wasn’t// to hurt him hits Steve hard. The people of HYDRA certainly didn’t treat him with loyalty, but a servant. Abuse him and torture him to obey them like he was some kind of wind-up toy. The injures Bucky got while on missions for HYDRA were definitely not created with so much care and gentleness that you just gave him. It was a breath of fresh air for Bucky, and he doesn’t know how to feel about it because it’s been so long. Too long.

Steve nods his head in understanding and comfortingly rubs Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky responds by putting his mouth into a thin line and avoiding his gaze.

“Hey,” Steve says softly. Bucky keeps his head down, but flicks his eyes up to look at Steve. “This is how it’s going to be from now on. You get hungry, you can eat. You don’t feel like getting up? You can sleep. You get injured, the medical staff or _______ will treat you. Maybe you’ll get a lollipop from her next time for being a good boy.” Bucky has to smile at that. “No one’s going to hurt you anymore, Bucky. I’ll make sure to keep them in check. If someone’s getting aggressive, back off and walk away, or talk it out. But don’t flip your wig. I don’t know how much Tony can take before he kicks you to the curb.”

Bucky lets out a small laugh at the small 40s slang Steve uses. It makes him feel like a kid again. And he sure as hell wishes he was.

“Okay,” he finally says.

“Good. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

Bucky gives him a small nod. Steve takes it, because he knows he won’t get much else, and heads to his desired location. Bucky feels even more out of place when Steve leaves. Standing alone in a modern kitchen with modern amenities of the present century makes him feel left out, and out of place. Like he doesn’t belong. He doesn’t know how anything works. The internet? What the hell is that? He hardly ever used the damn thing while HYDRA had him under their control. After he got himself out, he shut himself out from the world. Tried to live a discreet, normal life. And look where that got him. He doesn’t know if he can do this again. He’s a man from a different life, a different way of living. He has Steve and _______ as friends to help him through it, but not much else. And he doesn’t know what to do.

All these thoughts are giving Bucky a headache, so he takes your advice and goes to his new room, laying down on his new bed, and closing his eyes from his new life.


	7. Old Men

It’s been a week since Bucky’s arrival at the compound. He’s been adjusting, knowing where to go by himself without asking and avoiding arguments with problematic people. Mainly Sam and Tony. Vision has grown to be indifferent, and Natasha and Wanda were on a mission when Bucky came. They met him two days later after they came back. Natasha was civil enough about it, as was Wanda, though she was a little put-off from what she saw in his mind. It was only a small piece of a million, and you warned her not to look too deep. For one, he wouldn’t like it, and two, she wouldn’t like it either.

Sam’s been avoiding Bucky like the plague, but when he does encounter him, he simply keeps his eyes forward and his mouth tight. You told him he’s gonna have to get used to having him here, so he has to act accordingly. Bucky didn’t come here to be shut out. He needs someone other than Steve and yourself. He needs friends again to know what kindness and friendship feels like.

You’ve been doing quite a decent job with him. You haven’t been hounding on him for everything he does. When you’re training by yourself you ask F.R.I.D.A.Y. how he’s doing, but don’t request surveillance to give him the privacy he needs. He hasn’t gotten into any more fights, or touched something he’s not supposed to, so you’ve not attended to any more injuries. Which is good, but you want another excuse to look at his face again without being weird about it. At times, you forget that he has a metal arm. The sound of the plates shifting into place is usually the only indicator that reminds you he’s part cybernetic. He may feel insecure about it, but you’d probably make damn well sure that he doesn’t have to feel that way.

He’s spent a lot of time alone; training alone, eating alone, wandering around by himself. You give him a polite smile whenever you see him, especially when the others are out on a mission. The compound is huge, and it can feel even bigger when you’re in it by yourself. Bucky knows that he has to make an effort to talk to everyone if he doesn’t want to keep feeling down. He still can’t remember his trigger words, so he might as well enjoy himself in different ways.

Bucky’s on his way to the weights room again when he hears Steve and Sam talking. He doesn’t want to intrude, or participate even, but this is his chance to communicate and be friendly. Maybe. Hopefully. He approaches them quietly, hands shoved in his sweats as he listens to what they’re saying.

“Five bucks she plays ‘Fire’,” Sam says.

“Ten says she skips to the next song,” Steve replies.

“Pfft no way. She loves that song too much to skip it.”

“You never know.”

"What’re you guys doing?”

The two of them their heads to look at Bucky. Sam’s face falls a little, but he’s calm enough to not start anything. Steve happily welcomes him, though.

“We’re betting on what song _______ will dance to next,” Steve explains, shuffling to the side to let Bucky see inside. He’s surprised to see you so… Energetic. He’s never seen this side of you before.

His heart races as he notices the mask you’re wearing. The intense expression on your face reminds him of himself. While your intentions are purely 100% good, his were… Not. Even though he had no control over his mind, they were deadly intentions nonetheless. He wants to look away, not wanting to see anything that reminds him of what he once was, but he can’t. For one, he wants to see you keep going, and two, because he needs to do this. He needs to accept what he was, and who he is.

Your back has healed since your first mission, so it’s easy for you to get up and bouncing around again. Tony hasn’t given you your suit yet, so you’re stuck with your mask to practice with. You’re still not aware that the wall in front of you is a two-way mirror; you’ve been dancing to your heart’s content for weeks, and you don’t even know that everyone’s seen you and that they place bets on you. A strange way to pass the time, but they enjoy it.

“She does this everyday?” Bucky asks.

“More or less,” Sam replies. “She has a set playlist for her warm-ups. She hardly ever derives from routine.”

“Until today,” Steve smiles. “She’s going to change the song. I know she is.”

“That bet is already on, Cap,” Sam says. “And she won’t.”

“What about you, Buck?” Steve sighs. “What do you think she’ll do?”

Bucky walks up to the glass, cocking his head to the side. He knows it’s wrong to watch you when you don’t know it, but he can’t help but want to play along. His mouth twitches into a smile.

“I think she’s going to stop,” he guesses.

Sam scoffs and rolls his eyes while Steve shakes his head.

“What?”

“She never stops,” Steve says. “Never.”

Bucky turns back to the window and continues watching you. He cocks his head to the side and squints as he listens to the music. He’s never heard this kind of thing before. Well, how could he? He’s been living in a cryo tube for the past seven decades. Of course he wouldn’t know.

Just when he’s about to ask what kind of music it is, the song you’re dancing to ends. The three men watch closely, anticipating what you’re about to do.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., pause my playlist please.”

“Pausing playlist.”

The music stops, allowing you to catch your breath and take a breather. It really is suffocating with your mask on. You really want your new suit from Tony, but you’ll have to wait until he’s in a better mood. Which is never, when it comes to you. You take off your mask and toss it to the floor in anger. You’re thinking too much again. You push away the strands of hair sticking to your face, and huff as you put your hands on your hips. You shake your head as you walk around the room, trying to push the nagging thoughts away.

“Shut up. Go away, goddammit. Fucking hell. Mother of Christ just shut the fuck up. Pathetic. Just–just stop. Give it up. Mother _fucker_.”

While you’re having a crisis, Sam, Steve, and Bucky are staring in awe from the other side. Sam and Steve were disappointed that Bucky was right, making him smirk. But it’s all fun and games until someone starts getting upset. Bucky steps to the side, letting Sam and Steve speak lowly to each other while he keeps watching you. He wonders what’s going on on your head, just like he does to himself everyday. Judging, getting angry, wishing it was all gone. His face drops the more he keeps over thinking.

You pull yourself together and laugh out your frustration. You wipe your hands down your face and smile, then start laughing dryly.

“Ohhhhh my gooood. Wow. Wow wow wow wow wow. Jesuuuus. You’re really something, you bitter bitch.”

You laugh at the insult you give yourself. As you look up at the glass, you see just how much of a mess you are. Sweat covering your face, legs swollen, and smile tight. You approach the glass, placing your hand on it, and stare at yourself some more. You don’t know it, but you’re looking straight at Bucky. Well, his chest anyway.

You wipe your hand down your face and sigh, shaking your head at yourself. You don’t even know why you’re upset. Old memories are surfacing out of the blue, and you just can’t deal with them right now.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. Play 'Letting Go’, please.”

"Playing 'Letting Go’.”

The beginning of the song immediately relaxes you, and makes you smile because you know all the words.

“할 말 있어 보자 하곤

아무 말 없이 마주 앉아

자금 모릿 소–oH MY GOD!”

The jingling sound of your FaceTime interrupts your singing, both scaring you and pissing you off.

“_______. It seems you have a call.”

“I can see that F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” you snap. “Who is it?”

“Maeve.”

You sigh tiredly, throwing your hands in the air in defeat.

“Put her through.”

You yank off your shirt and use it to get rid of the sweat on your face and neck.

“Whoa, didn’t know you were naked.”

The sound of Maeve’s voice on the overhead system pisses you off even more. You turn around, and see her giant face on a holographic image.

“You have impeccable timing,” you say, anger lacing your tone. “I was just beginning to sing.”

“My bad. But I guess I saved everyone’s ears,” Maeve jokes. “And you sound like you need to take a six-hour nap.”

You glare at her, but it morphs into a smile and nod because she’s right. Your singing voice isn’t exactly the same as Adele. You get back on track, relaxing a little and walking around the room.

"Uggghhh tell me about it,” you agree, kicking off your shoes and pulling your socks off. “I bring this upon myself. I want to train, so I train.”

“You certainly look like it. Your eyes look dead.”

"Don’t need to tell me twice.”

“Shouldn’t we stop eavesdropping?” Bucky says, standing up and turning towards Sam and Steve. “She obviously doesn’t know that we can see and hear her.”

No matter how good-natured Steve seems, at times he wants to be a little sneaky and invasive. The call seems harmless from the way he sees it going. What could go wrong? Everything essentially, but in actuality, Steve believes in normal things in normal situations. Friends talk to each other about their life and what they’re missing, like in your case. Maeve is clearly chatting it up with you about “normal” things.

“I think it’s fine,” Steve finally says. “We’ll leave if things get too personal.”

Bucky is a little ambivalent, knowing it’s wrong to spy on you but at the same time he really wants to listen in. It makes him feel like an irresponsible brat, which is sort of nostalgic for him, and he’s always up for nostalgic opportunities. He nods his head and steps back from the glass, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Are they helping? The pills?”

You sigh and sit cross-legged on the floor and shrug.

“Most of the time, yeah,” you reply. “I’m almost out, so I’ll have to go get more. I can do with the 3 milligrams, but I’ve never tried the 10. Should I get them too?”

“If you think it’d help, yeah,” Maeve says, placing herself on her paper-filled bed.

Sam, Steve, and Bucky now feel like they’re intruding on a private conversation. They got the feeling something was wrong when the word “pills” was said. Steve and Sam exchange worried glances, concerned that you’re taking these pills for a very personal reason. Pills can be used for anything: migraines, mental illness, sleep, getting high,  _the_  pill, aches and pains. They didn’t want to know which one. They wouldn’t want to know something that you unwillingly told them.

“But at least I feel a little better after,” you smile. “They really work.”

“They work for me too!” Maeve excitingly agrees. “Best day ever when you gave one to me.”

“Glad I could be of service.”

The guys relax just the tiniest bit when they see your change in mood. They’re still worried about whatever you’re taking, but as long as it doesn’t affect your health, they couldn’t care less about what it could be.

“Onto better things,” Maeve says, a sly smile creeping on her face. “Those are some great snaps you’re sending me lately.”

The same smile makes it way onto your face when you think about all the Snapchats you sent of everyone on the team. Including Bucky. You bury your face in your sweat soaked shirt and laugh.

“I can tell,” you say. “You take a screenshot every time.”

“Well how can I not? They’re beautiful!”

“’They’re’ as in the snaps themselves, or ‘they’re’ as in the people in them?”

“The people, obviously!”

That definitely puts Bucky on alert.

_People? She’s been sending photos of me to her friend without me knowing? Can she be trusted? Why is she sending pictures of me in the first place?_

Knowing that you’ve taken pictures of Bucky and have sent them to your unknown makes him feel exposed and insecure. Even more so if his arm wasn’t covered. It’s been years, giving him plenty of time to get used to it, but he just can’t seem to do it. He’s grateful to have another arm, but not so pleased by who gave it to him. He touches his metal bicep, listening to the plates shift.

“Okay okay. Other than the beautiful Snapchats, and the pills, how have things been over there? Are you getting along with everyone?”

The childish, sing-song tone she’s asks it in makes you smile.

“I aaam,” you say. “Everyone’s really nice. Especially Steve. But when isn’t he nice?”

Steve smiles from the other side of the window, his ego boosted just a smidge.

“Pfft yeah I got that. Captain America is only not nice when he’s ripping apart his enemies. But who else? Ummm… Right! Black Widow? Iron Man? Falcon? Scarlet Witch? That new red guy???”

“They’re all fine,” you laugh. “Wanda is the closest to my age so it’s fun to be around her. Natasha’s really helpful when it comes to self-defence. Her training is brutal. I got these nice abs out of it though. Tony’s arrogant and prickly as always. Sam’s so funny you wouldn’t believe it. And Vision’s… Well, Vision. It’s so goddamn weird seeing him wear regular clothes instead of his battle uniform, though? Like, he’s got a synthetic body, so he’s not really an android. It’s just… Ugghhh I don’t know. It’s weird.”

"Wow. What a boring explanation,” Maeve says.

“Well I don’t know what else to say,” you defend. “That’s just how they are.”

“Okay, fine. So. What about the  _new_  new guy. What’d you say his name was?”

“Bucky.”

Sam was busy bragging to Steve about your compliment about him, when he stops himself short to listen to what you have to say about Bucky. Steve is side-eyeing his best friend, who looks like his hear will stop if you bad-mouth him.

“Yeah yeah, him. What’s he like?”

“He’s great,” you say, undoing your ponytail and shaking your hair. “He’s seen better days, though. He sticks close to Steve, which is the best option. Stay close to someone you know.”

“But what elseee?” Maeve presses on. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“How does he act with you?”

You make a face and shrug.

“I dunno. Normal, I guess? He’s really nice. Helped me calm down on the plane ride over here when we picked him up. And you know how I am about flying.”

“Yeah. You’re a goddamn mess.”

“And we went through a thunderstorm, Maeve. That was fucking terrifying.”

“Daaamn. But he calmed you down, though?”

“Yeah. Steve was asleep and Vision was no help at all, so Bucky took a stab at it. It worked, so I definitely was not complaining.”

“I wouldn’t be either with a face like that.”

That earns her a snort.

“Maeeeeve,” you whine.

“What?” she retorts.

Steve nudges Bucky with a smile on his face. Bucky remains stoic, no matter how much he wants to smile. Sam is rolling his eyes annoyingly because of  _course_  someone would compliment Bucky’s face. Who wouldn’t? You wave her off and smile to yourself, trying to think of something different to say other than how goddamn beautiful Bucky’s facial features are. Bucky waits for you to say something else about him, but you change the subject, his face falling a little.

“Well. Uhhh ummm. They’re a bunch of old men.”

“Mm? Who?”

“Sam and Tony and Steve and Bucky. Especially Steve and Bucky. Nearly 100 years old y'know. None of them know how to use social media and it’s hilarious. Steve was so confused when I showed him Snapchat.”

“Ahhh yes. I remember that video. His face was on point. Hair on fleek. Hot damn.”

Sam snorts loudly, and he quickly covers his mouth when he sees you staring at the glass. You squint at the glass, thinking you heard something.

“_______? What’s wrong? Keep going!”

_Is someone waiting to come in?_

“Sorry, Maeve. Thought I heard something.”

You stand up and stretch, grabbing your shirt and twisting it around, then tossing it around your neck.

“Where was I? Oh, right. Old men. Yeah. I need to teach them. I’m pretty sure Natasha and Wanda are better off than them, though. I don’t know if the guys would be interested because all of Tony’s brilliant technologies. It’s mostly for him, though. Doesn’t really let us touch it unless it’s for us, like to use on a mission or something. Jackass.”

Mave’s face lights up.

“Oh my god! I almost forgot! How was your first mission?! I know I saw you on the news when it happened and we talked about it a bit, but I need more details!”

“It wasn’t that bad, to be honest,” you say. “I got a nasty bruise from that day. It’s been healing pretty well, though, which is good.” You turn around and circle the spot where your back hit the cement post. “I don’t know if you can see it because it’s pretty yellow, but it was all right here. Hurt like a bitch.”

“Ouch,” Maeve hisses. “I saw a video of that from someone in a building. A bomb went off and you were too close to it. Cement is a bitch.”

“Yeaaah,” you affirm embarrassingly. “I uh… there was a bomb in a backpack and I threw it away too late. I was too close to the blast.”

There’s silence on the other end, Maeve’s face clearly trying to hold back a smile.

“Dumbass.”

You toss your shirt at the hologram.

“I’d like to see you try to handle twenty guys trying to blow up a building and not fuck up once!” you yell.

Maeve laughs hysterically and holds her chest.

“O-Okay, okay!” she chokes out. “Sorry!”

“Uh huh. That’s more like it. Have a little respect for us warriors.”

“Warriors?! Ahahahaha! Oh my  _god_ , get over yourself, _______!”

“Asshole.”

“Cumslut.”

You both burst out laughing at your adorable nicknames for each other. That was a great drunken night for you both, filled with laughter and protection from unwanted touches and drinks from strange people.

Meanwhile, Sam, Steve, and Bucky are standing on the other side of the glass, waiting for something else exciting to happen. Steve is a little confused on why insulting each other like that is such a funny thing, Sam is trying to hold his smiles back at the stupidest things, and Bucky’s just blankly staring. They’re all itching to just go in there and make something exciting happen. Sam especially. He’s impatiently tapping his foot on the marble floor, just waiting.

“Hey, think you can do something for me?” Maeve asks.

“Sure. What is it?” you reply.

“Can you show me it again?”

“You got it.”

Steve, Sam, and Bucky lean in, eager to see what you’re going to show Maeve. You go to the docking station where your lighter is resting and pick it up. You flick it open and produce the little flame. You smile wide, getting excited like you always do when you use your pyrokinesis for fun. You pull the flame from the lighter and hover it above your palm. You tuck the lighter away in your sports bra and concentrate hardly on the fireball. It took you a lot of practice to do this, and you wanted to do it right because it was a gift for Maeve. Your art skills are next to nothing, but you try. You hold your wrist as you begin drawing Maeve’s favourite flower in the air: a gazania. It’s a simple enough flower, but you still had some trouble with it before. But now, it’s close to the real thing.

You smile fondly as you watch Maeve hold her face in her hand and sigh happily. You extend the fire to your free hand to make the stem, then squiggle your arm along the bottom from grass. It amazed you when you found out you could write and draw using fire, thanks to being bored one day. You accidentally burnt your desk chair, but at least it wasn’t something of Tony’s. You’d never hear the end of it.

You smile at your good work, even more so when you see how happy Maeve is.

“It gets better every time,” she sighs, giggling as she rolls around on her bed. “I’ll never get tired of it.”

You nod and evaporate it from bottom to top, taking pleasure in the fizzing sound it makes once it’s disappeared.

“I didn’t know that I’d be using my powers for something like this,” you comment, taking your place on the floor again. “I like it though. Soothing.”

“I completely agree,” Maeve says. “Hey, _______?”

“Mm?”

“Go raibh maith agat.”

_Thank you._

“Tá fáilte romhat, Maeve.”

_You’re welcome, Maeve._

“I gotta go now. These designs won’t digitize themselves.”

“Sure thing. I’ll keep sending you updates and whatnot. And I hope you’re keeping them in a private, password-secure folder on your phone.”

“I aaam! No one else has seen these photos but me! And I promise no one will.”

“Good. Or I’ll kick your sorry ass once I’m over there again.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“I bet I could. Since I’m literally playing with fire, here.”

“Slán go fóill, _______.”

_Bye for now, _______._

“Slán, Maeve.”

_Bye, Maeve._

Maeve ends the call, the holographic image disappearing from your view. You yawn widely as you lay back on the floor, stretching your arms and legs. Talking with Maeve always refreshes you, giving you new things to think about during the day. But it also makes you feel homesick. It took three months to get used to living in Toronto, and with an unfamiliar person. You still haven’t gotten used to living at the Avengers compound yet. No matter how many sleeping pills you take, you just can’t seem to stay asleep on a bed that’s not yours. You always wake up in the middle of the night, tired and angry that you just can’t  _stay asleep._

You furrow your brows together when you remember you thought you heard a noise from before. And you’ll be damned if you think you’re hearing things, because that scares the shit out of you. You sit up, taking the lighter out of your bra and stand up. You don’t want to take this slowly, so you charge at the door and swing it open, fire at the ready.

“Holy mother effing Christ,” you say, putting your lighter away and holding your chest. “You guys scared the shit out of me.”

Steve, Sam, and Bucky stare at you in shock, and because they’re definitely 100% caught.

“Sorry I took so long. Are you guys waiting to use the room? I’m done with it now.”

Steve and Sam exchange wide-eyed glances, nodding slightly at each other.

“Yeah, we were,” Sam answers. “We heard your music so we didn’t wanna barge in on you.”

“Oh, well. Very considerate,” you say. “I’ll just grab my stuff and get going then.”

You turn around and gather your shirt and phone, then walk out the door. You see Bucky is still staring at you, so you give him a small smile.

“Everything okay, Bucky? You look a little–“

As you step to the side to get a better look at him, you notice that you don’t see his reflection in the glass. The smile drops from your face, and when you try to see why that is, Sam steps in front of you.

“Well, we’ll be going in now, Spyro,” he chuckles nervously. When he doesn’t move to go inside, you know that something is off.

“Then go inside,” you say, as if daring him to do so. His smile tightens, and his clenches his jaw. He still doesn’t move. Sighing, you open your lighter. “Move, or I’ll make you move.” He  _still_  doesn’t budge. “Okay. Whatever it is you’re hiding, I’m sure it’s not that bad. So let me thr–“

As you aggressively push Sam out of the way, you realize now why you couldn’t see Bucky’s reflection. It’s because there is no reflection. Where Bucky’s face should be, is where the window from the inside of the training room is. Your eyes widen and your mouth drops as you step back to take a better look at it. Steve and Sam close their eyes tightly and wait for your outburst.

“What the  _fuck_ ,” you whisper to yourself. “Oh my god. Oh my  _god_. Ohhhh my god. Oh my gOD. Oh my sweet Jesus Christ.  _Fucking. Hell_. I’m dead. I’m gonna die. No. I’m gonna kill you. I’m gonna fucking kill you bastards.” You put your hand on your forehead and start laughing off your frustration. For over a month you’ve been using this room, not knowing that everyone could see you from the outside, and none of them had the shred of decency to tell you that? You’re more embarrassed than anything, but the mix of anger makes everything more terrible. You shake your head and flick your lighter open again, holding it beside your head. You pull the fuel lever, and glare at the empty training room.

“Run.”

None of them have seen you particularly angry before, so they don’t know what to expect. But given the tone in your voice, you’re not playing around. When none of them move, you cock your head to the side and gather the little flame in the palm of your hand. You look over your shoulder and give them the dirtiest glare you can muster.

“Run,” you repeat.

Sam is the first one to take off, followed by Steve, and a confused Bucky. You give them a five second head-start, then run after them like your life depended on it.

“You’re all fucking dead!”

* * *

By the time you had finished with the three peepers, you were sure you had more bruises than they did. You went after Steve first, since he’s always the first one to stop doing something he knows is wrong, but you learned that he didn’t after Sam graciously gave you that piece of intel. Sam was next because he’s the nicest after Steve, which left Bucky for last because… well, you thought he’d at least rush in there and tell you that everyone who walked past the training room could see you. But alas, he didn’t either. You went in hard and fast, using all the techniques Natasha showed you, especially the one where you wrap your legs around their head and mercilessly bring them to them ground. But since they’re easily 200 pounds of muscle, it proved to be difficult. The closest you got to hurting them was a knee to the face and a bloody nose.

“Keep something like this from me again, and I swear to god, I’ll burn your eyes out,” was the last thing you said to them before heading to the showers to calm down.

Luckily, no one was in there when you first arrived, and there’s still no one in there now. You rest your head against the cool tile wall, letting the water run freely down your body. Your sides ache, along with your leg muscles from working so much. You can’t stop thinking about all the things you did in that training room for a month. Even though nothing is more embarrassing than someone secretly watching you do your warm-up dances, your meditation is something that you always wanted to be kept private. It’s your time to take control of yourself and harness your abilities without any distractions. But now that you know the room is compromised for you, you’ll have to search for another place to do it. And it’s a shame, because it had a nice view of the back of the compound where the forest of trees is.

You slap the wall, mentally scolding yourself for being so stupid as to not realize that the whole goddamn room was see-through. All you had to do was round the corner, but you never did. You were always in a rush to get to your training room, not wanting anyone else to take it before you got there. It was where you could unwind and let loose.

“So much for that.”

You turn off the water and squeeze your hair out. You sigh annoyingly and roll your eyes, knowing that you’ll have to get over this. One, to save your pride, and two, to not have Tony poke fun at you for not noticing earlier. But as always, you’d just fight fire with fire.

You wrap yourself up and grab your clothes as you head upstairs to your room to change. You pass Steve on the way, the cut above his eye still prominent. You keep walking when he tries to apologize, and throw up the middle finger before you disappear into your room.

When you come out, you keep up the cold shoulder, ignoring Sam’s attempts at reconciliation.

“Come on, Spyro. We’re sorry, alright?”

No response. You just keep slicing up your apple, making sure that Sam can hear the sharp end of the blade hit the cutting board.

“_______,” he says seriously. “We didn’t mean any harm by it. We thought you knew.”

You stop chopping and flick your eyes up at him menacingly.

“Obviously I didn’t,” you say sharply. You smirk when you see his black eye, proud that you managed to get a hit on him. Sam looks over at Steve and shakes his head. Steve comes over to help repair the damage.

“_______,” he says gently. You look back down and continue making your snack. “_______. Really. We thought that it was harmless, and we’re really are sorry for not telling you. We honestly thought you knew and you didn’t care.”

You slam the knife down on your apple for the last time before tossing it in the sink. You gather them in a bowl and shove one in your mouth. You look Sam and Steve up and down, thinking of something for them to do to make up for what they did. Or rather, what they  _didn’t_  do.

_What about Bucky, though?_

The thought of him makes you stop chewing, and look at the ground. Does he deserve your rage too? Sure, he didn’t know better, but he didn’t do anything to let you know that he could see you either. The fact disappoints you. He’ll have to participate in your punishment as well. But you’ll make it a little easier on him because he’s new.

You know you can’t stay mad at Steve and Sam forever because… well, they’re  _Steve_  and  _Sam_ , for god sakes. Staying mad at them is like leaving puppies outside in the rain. You just can’t not let them back in to your life and give them a warm hug. You sigh as you swallow your apple slice, then groan at how weak your resolve is. Sam’s and Steve’s sullen expressions is the last straw.

“Fine,” you say. “You’re forgiven. But not without a price.”

You quickly add the last part in when their smiles get a little too big. They fall slightly, but they’re ready to take on whatever it is you have planned.

“So what do we have to do?” Sam asks. You shrug.

“I dunno yet. But I’ll think of something.”

You put another apple slice into your mouth and smile sweetly, passing the both of them to go to the roof, leaving Sam and Steve to their imaginative minds for what you have in store for them.

* * *

By late evening, you had figured out what Steve’s and Sam’s punishment was. Bucky can be included in this too, because it’s pretty harmless. He’ll probably be the most embarrassed of the three, because it’s something that three grown men don’t usually do out of will.

On rare occasions, everyone has dinner together. And this happens to be one of those nights. Tony–surprisingly–makes dinner, said dinner being a large chicken with mounts of potatoes and vegetables. You never knew he could cook, so it was a shock to you when you see him setting everything on the harvest table in the dining room.

“Tony Stark can cook?” you say as you walk into the room. “Do my eyes deceive me?”

Tony rolls his head around to look at you, giving you an unamused expression.

“Well I wouldn’t be surprised,” he says. “Since you don’t notice when a room’s surrounding glass walls is fake.”

Cue death glare.

“Shut up,” you mutter, taking your place at the table.

He just gives you a playful smirk and continues setting the table. Soon enough, Wanda, Vision, Sam, and Steve wander into the dining room, also taking their spots at the table. You notice that Bucky isn’t with Steve. He takes a hesitant seat next to you.

“Where’s Bucky?” you whisper. Steve shrugs.

“Didn’t wanna come,” he answers. “He hasn’t warmed up to everyone yet, so he doesn’t want to be put in an awkward situation.”

_Awkward? It’s just dinner. But then again, he’s right._

You take Steve’s answer and sit with one leg on your seat, absentmindedly tapping your fingers on the table. You give everyone a friendly smile, even Sam, who gives you a nod and twitchy smile. You snort quietly because it seems as if he’s afraid of what your punishment for him and Steve is. You’re not a ruthless, cold-hearted person; but a loving, caring one who loves to embarrass the hell out of grown men. It’s one of the best games there is.

Once Tony’s sitting at the head of the table, the lot of you begin eating, thanking Tony for the meal. It’s quiet at first, the only sounds being the clanking of forks and knives on the dinner plates. Tony breaks the silence, and you’re not particularly pleased at what he has to say.

“So _______. Feeling alright? I hear Cap and Sam gave you quite a beating earlier today.”

“Not now, Tony,” you say quietly. But you can’t help but smile as you look at Steve and Sam’s small wounds you gave them.

“We deserved it,” Steve says. Sam nods in agreement.

“I’d say you  _all_  deserve it,” you comment. “But since Steve, Bucky, and Sam got caught, they’re the only ones that are gonna suffer the consequences.”

“There goes our bet.”

Natasha’s small voice makes you stop mid-chew to stare at her. You swallow thickly, widening your eyes at her.

“You’ve  _got_  to be kidding me,” you say incredulously. “Natasha?”

Natasha doesn’t even blink. She chews her last bite before answering you.

“Wanda and I had a little bet going,” she says. You look over at Wanda who’s avoiding your gaze. “I bet that Steve would get caught watching you first. Wanda bet Tony. Don’t forget to pay up, later.” Wanda simply nods and continues to eat her meal.

You feel so betrayed. You’d thought at least Natasha would have some good in her heart, let alone Wanda. You’re mad at them for a few more seconds before you’re over it.

“You guys suck,” you laugh, gathering some vegetables on your fork. “Spying on me for a month without telling me you could see me being an embarrassment.”

“Well it’s kind of hard not to see that the room was fixed,” Tony comments.

“Ohhh I don’t need anymore snide comments from you, Stark,” you say, pointing your fork at him. “I know I should’ve noticed earlier. But I didn’t. That’s embarrassing enough.”

You butter your potatoes and put salt on them. You make a show of shoving a mountain-full into your mouth and smile widely. Tony makes a disgusted face which in turn makes you laugh, nearly choking on your food.

After discussing your embarrassing ordeal a little further, the conversation turns in another direction. You hardly pay attention, because you can’t stop staring at the empty plate across from you. Bucky’s supposed to be sitting there, having dinner with the rest of you. But he’s not. You’d thought he’d warm up to someone other than Steve by now, but you guess these things take time. Halfway through your meal, you quietly ask Sam to pass you Bucky’s plate. He does so without question and you begin piling food on it. You grab his fork and knife and get up from the table.

“Where are you going?” Tony asks.

“To give Bucky his dinner,” you reply.

“If he didn’t come to dinner it’s for a reason,” Tony points out. “He can get his food on his own time.”

“I don’t care,” you say. “He’s probably hungry, so I’m gonna be a decent human being and see if he wants his dinner. Goodbye.”

You turn on your heel without another word and head to Bucky’s room. You were getting pretty full anyway, so at least you have a valid excuse to leave.

You knock softly on Bucky’s door, hoping that he’s willing to eat something.

“Bucky?” you call out. “I have something for you to eat if you want.”

You don’t receive an answer. You’re not even sure he’s in his room, but it’s the first place he’d probably be.

“Do you want me to leave it outside your door?”

Silence.

You set the plate on the ground with the fork and knife and stand back up. You want to know if he’s okay, but if he doesn’t want to talk, then there’s nothing you can do to make him. You smile sadly at his door before going back to the dinner table.

Bucky opens his door a crack and watches you leave. He looks down at the floor, his food still steaming. He’s not hungry; he’s hangry. He just woke up from another nightmare, his forehead and chest covered in sweat. He doesn’t want anyone to see him like this. So public dinners are a no-no for him at this point. He picks up the plate and brings it inside, gently kicking the door shut before sitting on his bed and eating quietly.

When you return to the table, you hear everyone laughing. You take your seat and push around your leftovers, not feeling hungry at all.

“So did Mr. Roboto want any dinner?”

_I’m gonna burn one of your suits if you keep talking like that._

“Dunno,” you say. “I left it at his door. If he wants it, he’ll take it. If not, the rats can have it.”

You smile sweetly at Tony as he rolls his eyes and takes a drink of his wine.

“You guys seemed very giddy,” you comment. “What’d I miss?”

Some of them try not to smile, but they all snort and start laughing.

“Come ooon. Tell me the funny thing.”

Tony nods his head and does the honour of lowering an overhead screen behind him. He turns around in his chair and pulls up a bunch of videos. Your heart stops when you recognize the training room in the thumbnails.

“Tony nooo,” you whine. You cover your face as he plays one. You peek through your fingers, groaning at the sight.

“This is just too cold, old man,” you say. “Video taping me when I don’t know it. I demand that you be prosecuted!”

You hold your face and shake your head as you watch yourself try to do a handstand against the wall. First comes the teapot position, and then you slowly extend your legs up the glass. Your shirt falls over your face, making you lose your concentration. Your foot bumps against the glass, and you go tumbling to the floor, muttering a string of curses.

“Well that’s not embarrassing,” you laugh quietly. Since everyone knows, you just have to laugh at yourself.

“Wait wait it gets better,” Tony says.

“Yeah, I  _know_  what happens next, genius,” you mumble.

The next thing you do is go rolling on the floor. From the window to the other side of the room and back again, whining and groaning.

“You guys are the worst,” you say, sticking your tongue out at them.

“Play the one where she goes ballistic because she tripped up one of her dance moves,” Sam speaks up.

“Saaam!”

This goes on for a while. Someone from the table suggests a less-than-graceful video of yourself for everyone to watch, you all have a laugh, and begin again with another video. You honestly can’t be mad at Steve and Sam anymore, and even Bucky, because after watching how ridiculous you are on the big screen, it’s no wonder everyone made fun of you. You laugh at yourself for being over-dramatic at times during your solo training sessions. Of course, Tony has video footage of Natasha kicking your ass during your first training session with her. You defend that it was your first time, but none of them care. They just keep on laughing.

The boisterous noises coming from the dining room can be heard from Bucky’s room. He’s finished what he could of his dinner, the remains gone cold. He’s sat in the same position for the past half hour, listening to everyone laugh about god knows what. He knows he can’t go out there now. It’d be too awkward to rain on their parade, even if he were to just put his plate in the sink and disappear to his room again. He wants to join in on the fun, socialize and be friends with them, but he’s holding himself back. Sam and Tony already don’t like him, Vision was reluctant to help him, so that’s three down. Steve is a given, you’re close to being there, and Wanda and Natasha are somewhere in the middle. He hasn’t spoken with them individually, so he doesn’t know where he’s at with them.

He sighs and stands up to look out the window. It’s a half-moon tonight, hidden behind the clouds. The nighttime was always a loud one for him when he was younger. Staying out late at the pub, protecting Steve’s skinny ass from people picking fights with him, and being the snazzy flirter that he was. He manages a small smile before it falls as quickly as it came. He misses those days. Where the only thing that he had to worry about was the war instead of the fuckfest that goes on in his mind nowadays. The words may be gone, but all the other horrific memories are not. And he hates every bit of it. He hates what he was made to be, he hates that he lost Steve, and he hates that he can never be the same, no matter how excruciatingly hard he tries. There’s even days where he wishes that he died after he fell off the train. But the experimentation done on him by HYDRA allowed him to live. Live with his new self that he can never erase. And he’ll just have to learn to accept that.

Shaking his head, he quietly emerges from his room, creeping along the wall, listening in on the conversations at the dinner table.

“So. Steve. Sam,” you say, gathering their attention. They look in your direction, laughter dying on their lips when they see the smirk on your face. “I have decided on your punishment.”

They laugh nervously and side-eye each other.

“Whatcha got, Spyro?” Sam asks.

You look at Tony and sit back in your chair, crossing your arms.

“Tony, go to YouTube and search ‘Red Velvet Dumb Dumb dance practice’, please.”

That earns you a weird look, but he does so anyway, selecting the first video that comes up. After a minute of showing, Steve asks you what this is.

“This,” you say, gesturing the screen, “is your punishment. You, Sam,  _and_  Bucky are going to learn this dance and perform it.”

Sam immediately breaks out into laughter, shaking his head and rubbing his chin.

“I don’t think so,” he says. “No way. No. Nope. Never. Not gonna happen. Fat chance.”

“Oh, you’re going to,” you fight back. “Or I’ll literally roast your ass.”

Bucky’s heart quickens when he can’t see what’s going on. Dance? He has to  _dance_  for you? He can’t even see what kind of dance it is. He takes a quick peek around the corner, having a preview of what he has to dance to.

His jaw drops.

“_______,” Steve says. “Is this really necessary?  _This_ , of all things? Can’t we just eat something disgusting?”

“Ha ha nooope!” you laugh. “This is what you get when you peep. Now suck it up, be a man, and deal with it. Or I’ll roast your ass too.”

Seeing Steve and Sam groaning and rolling their heads only gives you more satisfaction. The amount of gratification is overwhelming, causing you to break out into hysterical laughter. You already know the dance yourself, so ergo you’ll be teaching it to them instead of an instructional video.

“I’m not sure Buck’s gonna be up for something like this,” Steve comments.

“Up for it or not, he’s gonna have to,” you retort. “He was with you two, so he’s also part of the punishment. I don’t make the rules, Cap.”

Bucky returns to his room when he feels he’s heard enough. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, flopping down on his bed. Forget about being caught peeping; dancing to a song like the one you showed everyone is even more humiliating. And he has to  _perform_  it? He’d rather eat something disgusting, like Steve suggested. He can’t help but laugh at the whole situation. He does something so innocent, and in turn he gets bitch-slapped for it. And quite a bitch-slap it is. He’s never danced like that in his  _life_. The fanciest dancing he’s done is a few turns and the point of his toe. Moving his body like the girls in the video is going to be next to impossible with how stiff he’s become over the past few decades. He’s not sure he even remembers how to dance.

He slumps down onto his pillow, kicking off his sweats, and lays there in the moonlight. The last thoughts he has before he drifts off to sleep is the punishment set for him, and of you, laughing gleefully.


	8. Music for Your Thoughts

As the night dragged on and everyone started going to bed, you decide to stay up a little longer. As Wanda is heading to her room, she calls out to you.

“Looks like he was hungry.”

You look around the corner and see that the dinner plate you left for Bucky is gone. You smile and quietly thank Wanda for letting you know. She smiles back and heads into her room. You help Tony clear up the table in silence, but a small smile still plays its way onto your face because of how great the night was. That doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“You’re actually smiling,” he says as he scrapes leftovers into the garbage. “Do my eyes deceive me?”

You give him a playful, angry smile, but shrug nonetheless.

“Maybe I am,” you say, piling the rest of the plates together. “Maybe I’m smiling because I’m so hilarious.”

“Well, you certainly do put on quite the show,” he agrees, rinsing the potato bowl.

“Yeah, no kidding,” you say, bringing the plates over to be rinsed as well.

There’s another small silence before Tony speaks up again.

“I think,” he starts, straightening up and crossing his arms, “that you have redeemed yourself.”

“Redeemed myself?” you laugh. “From what?”

“Well, Barnes isn’t as much of a problem as I expected,” he explains. You raise an eyebrow at him and he nods his head to the side. “Come with me.”

You leave the plates in the sink, drying your hands on a dish towel before following him downstairs. Meanwhile, Bucky quietly emerges from his room again, dinner plate in hand, and heads over to the kitchen. He places it gently on the counter, and turns around to go back to bed.

“Hey, Buck.”

Looks like Steve has other plans.

Bucky stops his tip-toeing and looks over his shoulder at Steve. Bucky’s not exactly dressed to talk, as he’s just in his underwear, but since it’s Steve, he doesn’t mind. He’s seen worse.

“Hey,” he mumbles.

“We missed you at dinner,” Steve says. “Why didn’t you come?”

“Wasn’t feeling up to it,” Bucky replies.

Steve knows he’s not going to get much other than that out of him, so he changes the subject.

“Did you hear _______’s punishment for us?” Steve smiles. Bucky rolls his eyes and smiles himself.

“Yeah,” he says. “Dancing? To something that girly? I don’t know if I can do it, Steve. It’d ruin my reputation.”

“Well now you can build a new one,” Steve snorts. “Instead of the Winter Soldier, you can be the Winter Dancer.”

Bucky shoves him and Steve laughs, wrapping an arm around his neck. “Just think. However long from now, we’ll have to perform it too.”

“Nnnnnngggg,” Bucky groans. “Don’t remind me. I’m gonna die of embarrassment.”

“Don’t worry,” Steve says, gripping his shoulder. “So will Sam and I. We can all dig our graves together beforehand.”

Bucky chuckles and Steve grips his neck tighter. He’s happy to see Bucky smile after looking a little gloomy. He shoves his head away and begins walking to his room.

“Night, Buck,” he calls.

“Night, Steve,” Bucky says back. The laughter dies off quickly, but he keeps it alive as long as he can. He returns to his room and slides back into bed, attempting to fall asleep, and failing miserably.

You’ve only been in Tony’s lab once or twice, so seeing it for a third time is still staggering to you. There’s unfinished projects laying on the tables, and parts of his suit hanging up, waiting to be fixed. You plop yourself in a rolling chair and absentmindedly shuffle side to side while you wait for Tony to show you whatever he’s made. He presses a few buttons on his touch-screen remote and the ceiling opens. Down comes a display board with a new suit attached to it. You’re a little disinterested at first, but when you see a little phoenix logo printed at the hip, you widen your eyes and get out of your chair.

“Is this–?”

“Well I don’t imagine Cap nor Wilson wearing something like this, do you?”

You approach the board while its still lowering itself to the floor, touching the material while smiling.

“This feels great,” you say.

“Unstable molecules,” Tony says. “Made to be compatible with your power. It’s responsive to certain energized matter around it. It mimics its wearer’s physical properties, meaning that you won’t burst into flames if something goes wrong. The design is simple enough for you to move around in.”

“This is great,” you say. “Looks awesome.”

It’s a one piece like Natasha’s. The fabric is elastic, easily fitting and conforming to your legs and arms. The colour is a deep navy blue with flaming red and orange accents along the ends of the sleeves and pant legs. He even made boots and fingerless gloves! They’re simple black combat boots and gloves, but they’re also made out of the molecules. As you’re admiring the whole thing, Tony opens a drawer and pulls out what looks to be a mask. You gasp and cover your mouth.

"No wayyy.”

“Oh. Yes, way.”

Tony hands it over to you and plops down in his own chair.

“I had a feeling you’d want it the same as your old one,” he says, reaching into a different drawer and pulling out a bag of pistachios. “But breathable. More stylish.” He throws a handful into his mouth and tilts his head to the side as he watches you get more and more excited.

The mask is made of the same material as the suit. It has loops like your original, as Tony said, and you put it on while giggling. It fits perfectly, and it’s comfortable as ever. There’s six small holes down the front allowing you to breathe, but you feel like Tony did something extra to help with that. You don’t know what, but you don’t care. The only thing you care about at the moment is that Tony is actually giving you your suit.

_Finally._

You pull it down and give Tony the biggest smile.

“Thank you, Tony,” you say seriously.

“I’m not done with it yet,” he says with a mouthful of pistachios. “It’s not really a prototype since it’s the real thing, but I have to finish up a few things before it’s field ready.”

It disappoints you a little that you won’t get to wear it for a bit, but knowing that it’s in the works and getting to see it is enough to keep you happy for the rest of the week. You take off your new mask and lay it on the table.

“Well, thanks for showing me nonetheless,” you say.

“Anything for hell’s guardian,” he smirks.

You stick your tongue out at him, and actually laugh at the nickname because you actually think it’s hilarious. And because you call yourself the devil sometimes too, with the whole fire thing you got going. You clap your hands together and begin backing away.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of laughing to do about this dance routine for the three dumb men.”

Tony gives you a nod and wink as he keeps eating his late night snack while you go skipping up the stairs, laughing loudly from being so happy and excited. You make sure to quiet down once you near everyone’s rooms, but the cackles don’t stop even when you’re laying comfortably in your bed. You’re pretty sure you’ve woken up at least one person, or at least annoyed Vision. But you don’t care. Your happiness overrules the amount of sleeping hours they need to function. You calm down eventually, falling asleep a good two hours after your laugh fest has ended.

* * *

You didn’t know if you wanted to be an asshole today.

It’s the first day of teaching the boys the dance, and you’re conflicted on whether or not to obnoxiously wake them up by screaming and banging on their door. But since Sam and Steve didn’t seem so thrilled by the news, you think just knowing that they have to learn this kpop dance is asshole behaviour enough.

But that doesn’t mean you’re going to go easy on them either. It’ll be just like training, because it takes practice to move your body with flow and ease. But their general stiffness is good for the chorus where they act like robots. The thing you’re most worried about is them not cooperating; rather, Sam and Bucky getting along. You want them to spend the least amount of time together during the dance. You don’t need, nor want them purposefully being dicks towards each other and disrupting their punishment. Or you  _will_  get another comeuppance.

You’re not one to get up early for this, but you’re sure the three of them will be up and training. You go around knocking on their doors anyway just to be sure.

“Wilson!” you say. “You in there?”

No answer. Typical.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. Is Sam Wilson in his room?”

“No. He’s in the basement with Steve Rogers.”

“And what of Bucky Barnes?”

“He is still asleep in his room.”

“Thanks.”

That saves you a lot of wasted time. You go straight to Bucky’s room, and knock softly on the door.

“Bucky?” you call. “Time to wake up and get your ass kicked.”

He doesn’t answer either. He usually can’t sleep worth a damn, but now he’s sleeping like a rock. Amazing. You knock a little harder.

“Bucky. Come on. Get up.”

“…”

“If you don’t open the door I’m gonna come in. And I know you don’t want that.”

“…”

You sigh loudly and lightly pound your head on the door.

“Buckyyyy come ooooon. It won’t be that baaaad. I’m dancing with you guys if that makes you feel any better.”

You finally hear some scuffling on the inside, and an annoyed groan. You smile in satisfaction and back away from the door and eagerly twist your Kansas shirt between your fingers as you wait for him. When he does, it takes every ounce of you not to snort.

He looks tired and pissed off, as any man would when they’re about to do a girl group dance. His hair is all over the place, some strands sticking to his face. He hasn’t shaved in days, but it suits him. He’s wearing a white muscle shirt with grey sweats, and you try not to stare at his metal arm. You can practically feel how cold it is without touching it. You can also see a small bit of scar tissue poking at the top of his shirt where he first lost his arm. It only makes you want to touch him more.

You smile at him, and he gives you a glare in return. You pout, sticking your bottom lip out.

“Don’t be making faces at your teacher,” you say childishly. “Or you’re gonna get a timeout. Now come on.”

You begin leading the way, and Bucky reluctantly follows. He’d much rather do something better with his time, like having a dreamless sleep or going out for a run. He never has anything planned for the day, just like all the others. He’s not allowed to go outside. By himself, anyway. But no one’s been courteous enough to go with him. Not even Steve. Maybe he’s just as afraid of people coming after Bucky in public. You know you are.

It’s a silent walk to the weights room, but it gets progressively louder when Steve’s and Sam’s voices echo off the walls. You swing open the door and smile widely at them, Bucky trailing behind looking like the biggest grump that ever slumped out of bed.

“Alright, ladies. I’ll be showing you the whole dance first, so get your asses in a line and shut up!”

* * *

To say the three of them were shocked at your strict attitude was an understatement. They kept looking wide-eyed at each other, trying to keep up with your instructions. They were all struggling, Bucky in particular, but you let it slide once or twice. You feel like a drill sergeant, which should be familiar to all of them; they’re not so pleased this time around.

“Dorito! Watch your footing! Chocolachino! Arms straight! Vanilla Ice. Keep those arms up!”

Sam seems to be the only one pleased with his nickname. Steve is still confused about his, and Bucky doesn’t even know who Vanilla Ice is. One of these days you’re going to sit them down and educate them on modern society.

Only an hour has passed, and you’re still working on the opening verse. Forget synchronization; they can hardly remember where and when to move to their new spot. You have the mirrored video up to help them, just in case you’re not doing the dance justice. Which you pretty sure you are.

“Alright, come on, come on! Steve, remember. You’re following the one in the striped green shirt. Sam, blue and red. Bucky, green and red. I’m the one in yellow and red. It’ll get easier after a few tries, I promise.”

They all groan in unison. You never expected such whiny complaints from people who can body-slam a person to the ground without flinching. You laugh at them while shaking your head and bouncing on your heels.

“You guys are so  _pathetic_ ,” you say. “This is so hard to watch.”

“Our bodies weren’t built for this, Spyro,” Sam calls from the floor.

“And yet,” you pause to go over and lean over him, “here we are. Now up, up, up!”

They all shake their heads. You’re astounded that they can go for 10 mile jogs but not withstand the torture that is a simple, 4-minute dance video? You put your hand over your heart and dramatically slump down to the floor.

“Such fragile muscles,” you say mockingly. “These poor, old men cannot keep up with me. This truly is their downfall. Their ultimate weakness.  _Dancing_. I shall start digging their graves. F.R.I.D.A.Y. Lead me to a shovel.”

“Come on, _______, stop iiit,” Steve smiles. “We’re just not built like you. We can’t move our bodies that fast.”

“Bullshiiiiit,” you sing. “I’ve seen how fast you can move, Rogers. So don’t give me that.”

“But–“

“Ah bup bup! Nope! I don’t wanna hear any more complaining! If you children are done for the day, then I’ll just dance by myself. Go. Go on. Go play with your weights and cardio machines. I’ll loathe all of you from a distance.”

None of them have to think twice about their decision. They all get up from the floor and do exactly as you said: Steve and Sam go to the weights while Bucky busies himself with one of the treadmills. Instead of being an asshole, you’ll just be obnoxious instead. You blast your music, and you don’t turn it down when you get protests from Steve and Sam. You just smile and shake your head, and continue your dancing. But when a song comes on that doesn’t have a dance, you play with fire instead. Literally.

As “Carry on Wayward Son” starts playing, you belt out the lyrics with no shame. Not being able to withstand it anymore, Sam drops his weights and approaches you. He has a serious look on his face, and you’re almost afraid, but you’re pleasantly surprised by what he does.

“Once I rose above the noise and confusion

Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion

I was soaring ever higher, but I flew too high!~”

You don’t have time to process what is happening, because you’re already singing along with him, leaving Steve and Bucky to look at you dumbfounded.

“Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man

Though my mind could think I still was a madman

I hear the voices when I’m dreaming

I can hear them say!

Carry on my wayward son

There’ll be peace when you are done

Lay your weary head to rest

Don’t you cry no more!”

You want to laugh at Steve and Bucky for not knowing the song, but they’ve been left out of the loop for years. They can learn it sooner or later, if they choose to. Or you make them. Teaching them about music since the 40s should be a little less painful than learning a kpop dance.

You and Sam keep singing and laughing passionately, not caring that it might be annoying the other two in the room. You’ve never felt this happy with Sam before, so it’s a nice change in pace from yelling at him.

“Masquerading as a man with a reason

My charade is the event of the season

And if I claim to be a wise man

Well, it sure don’t mean that I don’t know

On a stormy sea of moving emotion

Tossed about, I’m like a ship on the ocean

I set a course for winds of fortune,

But I hear the voices say!”

By now you can hear and feel your voice getting scratchy from screaming the lyrics, but you keep going as long as Sam is.

“Carry on my wayward son

There’ll be peace when you are done

Lay your weary head to rest

Don’t you cry no more no!

Carry on,

We will always remember

Carry on,

Nothing equals the splendor

Now your life’s no longer empty

Surely heaven waits for you~

Carry on my wayward son

There’ll be peace when you are done

Lay your weary head to rest

Don’t you cry,

Don’t you cry no more,

No more!”

You and Sam rock out at the outro, earning a raised eyebrow from Steve and a stunned Bucky still running on the treadmill. You laugh at the end of the song, Sam joining in and clapping a hand on your shoulder.

“Wow, Spyro,” he says. “Didn’t know you were a fan!”

“I was born in the early nineties but I’m still heavily influenced by the seventies and eighties!” you explain, pointing at your Kansas shirt.

After Sam calms down from laughing along with you, he goes back to Steve to keep lifting weights. Now that you got Sam on your good side, you decide to play some more nostalgic music.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. Play ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’, please.”

Right as the first line comes on, Sam groans, drops his weights to the floor, and eagerly joins you again for early morning karaoke. By the third song, Steve and Bucky have had enough. They’re not mad, per se. They’re just annoyed that you and Sam know songs that they can’t sing along with you.

Steve approaches you two and crosses his arms.

“Seems like you two have found a middle ground,” he says.

“Music brings people together, Cap,” Sam says.

“No need to tell me twice,” you add.

“This is great and all,” Steve begins, clearing his throat, “but it’d be better if­–”

“We played one of your old man songs?” you cut in. Steve gives you an unimpressed look. “I’m kidding, Steve. What do you want to hear? F.R.I.D.A.Y. will play anything.”

Before Steve makes a decision, he calls Bucky over. It takes a few tries, but Bucky stops his cardio and walks over to Steve, muttering a small “what”.

“Remember that song that’d play in between missions back in the day?” he asks. Bucky shakes his head. “Maybe it’ll jog your memory a bit. F.R.I.D.A.Y., play ‘Sunday, Monday, or Always’ by Frank Sinatra.”

“Playing ‘Sunday, Monday, or Always’.”

You’ve never heard this song before, because you stick with what you know since childhood and all the new stuff now. It’s definitely an old song, because the tone is definitely one from the 40s or early 50s. Kind of jazzy and soft. Sam recognizes it, nodding his head along with the tune. Steve does the same, and quietly sings the lyrics while looking at Bucky.

“No need to tell me now

What makes the world go ‘round

When at the sight of you

My heart begins to pound and pound.”

Bucky still doesn’t recognize it. He wants to remember so badly, but he just can’t. There’s only a slight familiarity with the song, but there’s no memories to accompany it. He doesn’t want to lie about remembering, but he wants to be more than just maybe’s and probably’s when people ask him about a memory they have that he doesn’t. Moreover, he doesn’t want to be a disappointment. Especially to Steve. Though Steve would never think that, the nagging feeling is still there.

“So won’t you tell me when we will meet again?

Sunday, Monday, or always

If you’re satisfied, I’ll be at your side

Sunday, Monday, or always.”

"I’m sorry, Steve,” he says. “But I don’t remember ever hearing this song.”

Steve’s face falls a little, but he smiles nonetheless.

“That’s okay, Buck,” Steve says.

“Now you can learn it again,” you cut in, giving Bucky an encouraging smile. “You can make new memories with it.”

“No need to tell me now

What makes the world go ‘round

When at the sight of you

My heart begins to pound and pound

And what am I to do, can’t I be with you?

Sunday, Monday, or always

Sunday, Monday, or always.”

You keep this song in mind as it ends. The only song you’ve ever heard from Frank Sinatra is “Fly Me to the Moon” and his Christmas songs because your mom would play them all the time. You didn’t mind at times, but you couldn’t just get into it as much as she would. You’ll stick with your Nirvana, Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, Simple Minds, Queen, Guns N Roses, Metallica, Kansas, AC/DC, and the like. And, of course, there are too many bands to list from the nineties into the two-thousands. Everything is so different, but yet, it’s all the same because it’s music, and no one can ever hate it.

Bucky gives you an appreciative nod then goes back to his treadmill after having nothing else to add to the dying conversation. Steve gives you a smile, knowing that you tried to cheer up Bucky, which means a lot to him. He goes back to his weights, Sam following along after playfully shoving your shoulder. You’d love to join them, but the yawn you have is enough of a reminder that you need to go shopping.

“I’m going shopping if anyone wants to join,” you call out as you start walking away. The only response you get is grunting. “Okayyy.”

You head upstairs and change into some jeans, a very old Nirvana t-shirt, and a SnapBack before grabbing your bag–and Wanda–and heading out the door.

* * *

Luckily enough there’s an actual regular looking car in the garage, so going out into public won’t look too suspicious. Shopping with Wanda is such a different experience. It’s such a mundane chore, but she’s a complete joy to be around. Her smile is adorable and you can’t get enough of her accent. It makes you jealous because you love accents, and you curse your mother for not keeping hers to pass down to you.

You start with the little things: going to the drug mart and piling up on hygiene products, painkillers, and sleeping pills. Wanda doesn’t judge you at all, because she’s definitely going through the same things. You grab some junk food from the mart as well, like chips, ice cream, chocolate, candy, and the like. You’re allowed to have pig-out days, so you’re going to take full advantage of it. You earn some looks from a few people because of Wanda, but none of them step up to say anything. Some even take pictures, which you’re a little peeved about, but you get over it quickly. You tuck the beak of your hat forward to keep your face hidden as you head out of the store and onto the next one.

It turns out, clothes shopping is a lot more exciting when it’s with Wanda. You’ve never gone by yourself once in your twenty-five years of life. You tried it once, but it felt too lonely. You always went with your friends if they had the time. If they didn’t, then you didn’t shop. But now that you have Wanda to accompany you while you’re away from home, she just saved you from a few hours of hell. Wanda loves to see you smile too, and the two of you try on clothes for each other for fun, more than anything. You hate trying on clothes, just grabbing your size and paying for it, but you couldn’t say no to Wanda. She’s adorable.

After about two hours of blowing cash and having fun in general, the two of you head over to Starbucks, leaving your purchases locked in the car. You order a S’mores Frappuccino since it just came back, and Wanda orders a Teavana Iced Passion Tango Tea Lemonade. You never pegged her as a tea person, but you are proved wrong today and she pays for you both. You protest, but she insists on it because you were willing to take her with you on your shopping trip. You sit at a table near the back, you with your back to the window so you can see everyone who comes in.

“So,” she starts after a long sip of her drink, “how are you adjusting to your new life? I know it’s been just over a month, but I haven’t really asked.”

You take a sip of your own drink before answering. “Not as bad as I thought it’d be. Everyone’s really nice. Tony could ease up on his ego and attitude, but he’s fine either way. Steve’s a treasure. Bless that man. Sam’s hilarious. Vision is… something, all right. Natasha’s a great instructor and person overall. And you’re awesome. I can’t deny that.”

Wanda smiles wide at your compliment and mutters a happy “thank you” before taking another sip of her drink again.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” she says. “You brought a new energy to the compound. And I’m not just talking about your pyrokinesis. Things seem livelier with you around, y’know? Your different music tastes and your personality. It’s refreshing for all of us.”

Well. Isn’t that the best compliment you’ve ever received.

“You’re too kind, Wanda,” you smile. “But thanks. Means a lot.”

“Any time.”

You dig through your purse to pay her back for buying your drink. You hand her $20 without realizing, and you raise an eyebrow at her when she gives you a confused look.

“What is it?”

“_______. You just gave me $20. Your drink was only $5!”

“What?”

You take the bill back from her, and lo and behold, there’s the small printed number 20 in the corner of the bill. You sigh in annoyance and shake your head while you look for more spare change.

“I always hated that about America,” you say, giving her the right bill this time. “Their money is all green and makes it difficult to pay for things. My money is colour-coded. $5 is blue, $10 is purple, $20 is green, $50 is red, and $100 is brown. Makes things a whole lot easier.”

“They should follow after your country then,” Wanda agrees. “I still have trouble pulling out the right bill too.”

“Right?”

The two of you continue talking in idle chatter, smiling away and having a good time. When you’re nearing the end of your drink, Wanda sits back in her chair and plays with her straw, giving you a small smirk with the tilt of her head. You stir what you have left of your whipped cream and stare at her curiously.

“You look like you’re thinking about something nice. Care to share?”

She smiles a little wider and moves her gaze to the floor. The more she thinks about what she wants to say, the bigger her grin grows. She doesn’t exactly know your touchy subjects yet, so she hopes this isn’t one of them.

“You and Bucky,” she says softly.

That certainly isn’t what you were expecting to hear. You assumed that she would just compliment your personality again. The topic of Bucky never crossed your mind. Well, he did cross your mind a few times during the day, but never you and him together. You wonder where Wanda’s going with this. Why doesn’t she just read your mind? She could’ve already and is just waiting for your reaction. Or what if she hasn’t yet?

“Me and him?” you say. “What about us?”

_Huh. That’s weird to say. There is no “us”, except for when grouping a few people together to gesture them as a whole which Wanda is doing right now so you better pay attention and don’t turn this in the wrong direction._

“You and him are great together,” she says.

That earns her a surprised snort. You don’t overreact, because in this sense, “together” can mean a bunch of different things. You’re hoping to steer away from the most obvious, because you don’t know if you can handle that kind of a conversation about him.

“I guess so,” you agree. “I mean I get along with him all right. Never been on a mission with him before, so I have yet to have a conclusion on that. We’re not like Steve and him–“

“_______,” Wanda interrupts. “You know what I mean.”

Woop there it is.

You drink what’s left of your Frappuccino, trying to keep your cool as Wanda attempts to talk about you and Bucky. It’s not really a subject you’d talk about willingly, because one: it’s embarrassing, and two: you don’t want to seem too eager about talking about him. It would only fuel Wanda’s desire to prod and get more out of you.

You don’t want to reveal too much, but what’s there to tell? There’s nothing going on between you two. There is no “us” when it comes to you and Bucky. The thought disappoints you a little, but you shrug it off. There’s no time to be thinking like that.

“There’s not much to say, Wanda,” you finally say after thinking it over. “He’s my friend. I think. He hasn’t fought with me so I think that means he’s okay with me? I dunno. We’re fine.”

“I think there’s a little bit more than that,” Wanda says, reaching over to swipe her thumb along your lid. She sucks off the excess cream before continuing. “You helped him in a way no one thought possible. Him included.”

“I just did what anyone else would’ve done,” you shrug. “It’s terrible what happened to him, and I wanted to help. That’s all I did.”

“_______,” Wanda says. The tone of her voice tells you you’re in for a lecture. “In all honesty, how many people do you think actually tried to find a way to take out what HYDRA put inside him? How long did they dig through their research? I can’t tell you. But you come here out of the blue, with no knowledge of anything, and you come up with such a simple solution. It’s a shock that we didn’t think of it sooner. _______. You gave Bucky some of his life back. And that’s something that he can never repay you for. So don’t tell me that there’s nothing going on.”

Despite what she said, you still can’t help but smile and shake your head in disbelief.

“I know I really helped him out,” you agree. “And you’re right. Maybe he can never repay me for it. But he doesn’t owe me anything. I was just doing what was right. He doesn’t need someone like that right now, Wanda. Right now, he just needs a friend.”

Wanda gives you an exhausted sigh. You feel like she’s not telling you something, but then again, you’re not that good at reading people. You push your empty cup away and place the lid back on top. You tap your fingers on the table, waiting for her to say more. She gives you a smile.

_Just say it already._

"Aside from that,” she begins, “what do you think of him?”

She’s definitely not letting this go anytime soon. You shrug again, not knowing what to say. You want to give her an answer she’ll be satisfied with without revealing too much.

“He’s great. He’s been doing better. I see him smiling from time to time. Mostly with Steve. Um… I don’t talk to him that much, so I can’t give you anything other than that.”

Wanda nods in understanding and folds her hands together in her lap. She cocks her head and pulls her mouth to the side.

“You’re not very open about your feelings, are you?”

You give her a shy smile.

“When I was younger I wasn’t very discreet. I was an open book. But over the years I learned to keep to myself and admire from a distance. Not stalker-like, though. I hardly told my friends about my love life, 'cause it was virtually nonexistent. Same as today. And because of how my life is now, I can’t really go around saying my life story. Too dangerous, and all that.”

“You can tell me though,” Wanda says without missing a beat. “I don’t mind.”

You look around the shop, watching the people walk in and out, their drink and food in hand. No one would hear you if you spoke quietly enough. Wanda looks expectant, but you don’t want to tell her anything. You’re not quite in the mood to tell her every little detail about yourself.

“It’s all right,” you say. “Not today.”

Wanda respects your space and slings her purse over her shoulder.

“Sure thing. Ready to go?”

“Yup.”

The two of you exit the shop at a brisk pace back to the car, keeping your heads down. You blast the A/C when you turn the car on; the Los Angeles weather is really kicking your ass. You ask Wanda if there’s another place she wants to go, but she shakes her head. Pulling into gear, you begin heading back to the compound. Your trip back is extended because of an accident about a mile ahead. Not one to be patient about these things, you manage to get out of the long line-up and ask the built-in GPS for an alternate route back home. It’s a longer way, but it’s better than being stuck in traffic. Nearly two hours later, you and Wanda arrive back at the compound unscathed and happy. You carry the bags inside, greeting an annoyed Tony on the way.

“And where have you two been for the past six hours?” he says.

“Shopping,” you say with a big smile on your face. Tony sees the outline of food and clothes in your bags and gives you one of his famous eye rolls.

“I didn’t know that food and clothes took up so much of your time,” he says.

“There was an accident on the way back,” Wanda adds. “We took a different route.”

“I see,” he says with a nod. “Well, it’s just us three here. Cap, Wilson, and Barnes went out two hours ago.”

“On a mission?” you ask as Tony begins walking away.

“More or less.”

“That’s not much of an answer.”

“Well that’s all you’re getting. By the way, you have something waiting for you in your room. Be careful with it.”

Tony disappears down the hall, leaving you and Wanda to wonder what he’s talking about. You go to the kitchen and place the bags on the counter before the two of you go to your room. No one’s in there, but there’s something lying on your bed. You gasp and cover your mouth as you approach your bed and stare down at Tony’s present. Wanda smiles as you do, knowing fully well what it is.

“Your new suit?” she asks.

You can only nod, your excitement taking over your sense of speech. You pick up the top, flipping it around to get a good look at it. It feels and looks the same, but Tony must’ve done  _something_  to it, like he said he would. The rest of your outfit looks the same as well. You fling it back down on your bed, and stand with your hands on your hips.

“I’m putting it on,” you say.

You don’t wait for Wanda’s approval–not like you need it. You quickly strip out of your clothes as Wanda takes a seat at your desk, turning away to give you some privacy. Everything fits like it’s supposed to. The arm sleeves are a perfect length, and the boots are more comfortable than you sought them out to be. Your favourite part is the mask of course, because it’s the most vital part of the whole ensemble. Your identity is something you want to protect, but you know you can’t hide forever. For now, at least, you’re going to try.

“Okay, I’m done.”

Wanda turns around, and the biggest smile erupts on her face. Her jaw drops a little which makes you laugh. She claps her hands together, completely speechless.

“It looks great,” she finally manages to get out.

“And it feels even better,” you agree. “I can actually breathe with this new mask! The whole thing covers the essentials. The gloves feel squishy. I like squishy. And he gave me a… holster? What do I need that for?” You pick it up from your bed, turning it around, wondering if it goes around your waist or on your leg. Wanda shakes her head and stands up, taking it from your hands.

“Let me.”

She ties it around your right leg, making sure it’s nice and tight. It feels a little weird, but once you shake your leg, it doesn’t feel as bad. You raise an eyebrow at it.

“Why would Tony give me this?” you ask.

“For your gun, obviously.”

“Gun?”

That makes you anxious. Very anxious, actually. You’ve never seen a gun in real life, let alone  _hold_  one. You don’t see why you need a gun anyway. Fire is your weapon. But then again, 99% of the people you’re going to fight are going to use guns. Natasha uses guns, so she’ll probably be the one to teach you how to use one. There’s comfort in the thought, but your fear overrides your confidence. Your heart beat is picking up at just the mere thought of touching one. Wanda notices your discomfort.

“You okay?”

You look up at her, concern written in her eyes. You shake your head and shrug.

“Uhhh. I just… I’ve never really felt…  _comfortable_ , around guns,” you reveal. “I know Natasha is a pro with them, but the thought of me using one is petrifying. I don’t want to screw up.”

Wanda understands your trepidation, having not used a gun herself. She’s usually the one taking the guns away. With quite the skill, if you might add. But Wanda doesn’t need a gun to take down a man. Neither should you, but you don’t have the power to miraculously freeze a man in place; you can only burn them alive.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Wanda assures you, pulling you out of your thoughts. “I hear you did perfectly well during your first mission, even without a gun. What’s there to fear?”

_Everything._

You give her a smile, even though she can’t see it. It’s nice that Wanda’s trying to help you out, telling you thought you have nothing to worry about. But you’ve never felt so unconfident about yourself before. This is a gun. It was designed to maim and kill. Used everyday around the world, for both good and bad reasons. You know how good, and what your intentions are; it’s to kill the bad guys. Simple as that. But that’s easier said than done, especially when you’ve never used a gun in your entire life. You never imagined you’d have to use one, considering how damaging your power is, but Tony, apparently, has other ideas.

Seeing as how you won’t be able to get out of this, you decide to just embrace it, and suck it up. This is your job now. Might as well start getting used to all the fancy weapons that come with it.

“Come on,” you say, walking towards the door. “We’re gonna test out my new suit.”

The two of you put away your groceries first, and you mark everything with “_______&Wanda” to let everyone know not to eat it. You did the same for Bucky, writing “Tony” on everything that’s his so he didn’t accidentally eat it. So far so good.

After another two hours, you two are completely beat. Sweat clings to your foreheads, and your muscles scream in protest. Your hand-to-hand combat skills have improved quite a lot with everyone’s help. Wanda is still able to successfully deflect your fire attacks, but you’re getting better at learning new ways to attack without it being so obvious.

Your suit doesn’t even have a scratch on it. It adapted to you quite well, your fire never once crisping the edges nor burning your hands. The gloves are a real help, adding as extra protection. You love fingerless gloves too, which makes it all the better. But the best thing of all, is your mask. It’s  _much_  more breathable thanks to Tony. It stays on your face securely, no matter which way your head is going. You love that he kept it black, matching your gloves and boots. The fire accents on the pants are small details, but it compliments the whole suit, and especially you.

You and Wanda head inside, covered in dirt but smelling like sweat and victory. You both use the public shower on the main floor before meeting again in the kitchen. It’s already dinnertime, but no one’s cooking. Not even Vision. The compound seems quieter than usual. Is everyone out?

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Yes, miss _______?”

“Is everyone gone?”

“I believe Captain Rogers, James Barnes, and Sam Wilson have not returned from their errand. Natasha Romanoff, Mr. Stark, and Vision have been called away. However, they should all arrive within two hours.”

“Huh. Guess it’s just us then.”

Quality time with Wanda. Today is a very good day. First shopping and now cooking? It’s like this day was just meant for you two. You make something simple: rice and veggies. You alternate between requesting songs for F.R.I.D.A.Y. to play, belting out the lyrics and bouncing around the kitchen. It’s a joy to see Wanda with her hair in a bun and pyjamas. Plaid pants really suit her. The two of you plop down on the couch, bowls in hand, and turn on a movie. F.R.I.D.A.Y. said everyone won’t be home for a few hours. You’re going to make the most of it. Dessert is Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, and you’re mildly surprised when Wanda mentions she hasn’t had it before. She has Peanut Butter Fudge, while you’ve got The Tonight Dough. She makes a content noise when she takes her first bite, which makes you smile.

“Good, isn’t it?”

“Best I’ve ever had.”

The atmosphere is sleepover-like, which doesn’t bother you in the slightest. It feels like you haven’t done something like this in forever. Back home in Toronto, you were too busy with work to act like this with Maeve. You still had fun with her nonetheless, but now that you are where you are, it’s nice to kick back and act like teenagers. You pull out your phone and take a SnapChat video of Wanda.

“Maeve, this is Wanda. She is the cutest little bean.”

Wanda laughs as the video ends, and you save it before sending it to Maeve.

“’Little bean’?” Wanda repeats. “What sort of name is that?”

“A cute one,” you smile.

Wanda doesn’t have anymore words. She just laughs with you and delves into her ice cream as  _Mean Girls_  plays on the TV. Two hours, a bunch of SnapChats, and talking later, the rest of the team starts to pile in through the kitchen, battered and bruised.

“You guys look like shit,” you comment.

“Feel like it too,” Natasha agrees.

The men just strut in and strut out, too exhausted to even speak. They’re not wearing their uniforms, making you suspicious. Did they get into a street fight? You’re surprised that Bucky looks the worst of them all. Did he do all the dirty work? Sam and Steve are beaten up pretty well, but Bucky looks like he took every kick and punch sent their way. His eyes are distant, staring off in front of him, but not really  _seeing_  what’s in front of him. He looks dazed more than anything. Steve helps him to his room, and he takes off to his own room, Sam doing the same. Tony never comes through here when he’s completed a mission. He knows his own way around the compound, knowing exactly where to go if he doesn’t want to be seen. Seems like Tony had a rough night too. Natasha heads to her room as well to take a much needed shower. Vision is the last to wander in, looking the same as he departed. He doesn’t even look like he participated in any fight. There’s not a scratch on him. Not like there ever was.

“Good evening, Wanda, _______,” he says.

“Hey, Vis,” Wanda says. You give him a nod, a little too focused on a disheveled soldier that disappeared into his room. You wonder how to help him as Wanda and Vision start talking. You turn around in your seat and think about what you can do that Steve, apparently, can’t. An idea pops into your head, and you excuse yourself to your room, immediately opening your computer and searching for all the greatest hits from the 1920s to the present.

It takes about an hour to find a good amount of songs and to download them, but luckily Tony’s system works like a charm. It takes an average of ten seconds to download a song, and a few more to fix the title. You add the year the song was released, and have them arranged according to that year. You have about 120 songs in total, and you name the playlist “Blast from the Past”. You roll over to your bed and look under the mattress, grabbing the iPod touch you bought without Wanda seeing. You nearly forgot about it tonight because you were so distracted, but once you saw Bucky’s face you remembered it immediately.

You take it out of its case and get it started up, doing all the usual things with a new electronic. You take the cord and plug it into your laptop, the other end into the iPod, and start transferring the songs. The process takes two minutes, and you check to make sure the songs work before heading down to Bucky’s room with some headphones.

He’s had enough time to shower and eat, so you hope you’re not interrupting something. Like him trying to sleep. You knock on his door, waiting for an answer. When you don’t hear a reply, you sigh and speak for yourself.

“Bucky? It’s _______. I have something for you.”

You hear the creak of his bed, and you wonder if you woke him up. It’s not until you hear him say “one second” that your nerves calm down a little. When he opens the door, the smell of shampoo floods your nostrils, and a shirtless chest is in your view.

_He must’ve just gotten out of the shower._

His hair is still dripping wet, and when you look down at the iPod in your hands you notice he’s just wearing his sweats. His metal arm is glistening, and you try so hard not to stare. You clear your throat and look back up.

“This is for you,” you say, holding out the iPod. He opens the door wider and takes it, turning it around in his hand.

“What is it?”

“It’s an iPod touch. A device that let’s you listen to music.”

You can tell he’s never seen one before, because he furrows his brows and pouts a little.

“Here. I’ll show you how to use it.” You take it from his hands and turn it so he can see what you’re doing. Even though he just got out of the shower, his body heat is enveloping you. “This button on the top locks it, and unlocks it. You can press the home button, which is the circle on the bottom.” You press the home button. “This screen comes up, so you slide it open to unlock it. This is your home screen. You can download apps from the App Store, which is this blue one right here. Your music is the orange square right here.” You tap on it. “This pulls up all your music. At the bottom is your playlists, artists, songs, and genres. Once you tap one, it starts playing. The pause, play, rewind, and forward buttons are down here, along with the volume. The buttons on the side of it controls how loud it is.”

Bucky nods his head as you explain how everything works, squinting his eyes whenever there’s a glare. You hand it to him again, and he plays around with it, scrolling through the songs.

“I took the liberty of adding some for you,” you say. “It’s uh. It’s the most famous songs starting from the 1920s into the 2000s.” He stops scrolling and gives you a grateful look. “I figured that since you missed a lot, I might as well start simple. Music speaks to us, so I started there. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, this is…” He shakes his head and laughs lightly as he continues to scroll through the songs. “This is great. Thanks. A lot.”

“No worries. Happy to help a friend.”

His ears perk up at the mention of “friend”. You give him a big smile because you’re giddy about it yourself. He returns it, though a little smaller.

“I’m just sitting out here with Wanda if you need any help,” you say. “Though, most of us know how to use it–except Steve maybe–so you can ask any of us really.”

He nods and looks down at his new iPod. It’s a really nice gesture, you think. You’re 99% sure he hasn’t listened to any music since his capture 70 years ago, so you just gave him a little push. Fill up some empty holes he has. You walk away when he doesn’t say anything else, and he watches your retreating back into the living room. The loud laughs he hears pangs his heart with jealousy. He’s only ever done that with Steve, which is a lot harder to do these days. There’s been times where he’s laughed genuinely, but nowadays all he can manage is a small smile.

He closes his door quietly and sits on his bed, still scrolling through the songs. Next to none of the songs are familiar to him. Maybe once or twice he heard the chorus or verse from a song whenever his neighbour in Bucharest had the radio on, but he doesn’t remember. What else is new?

Shaking his head from unwanted thoughts, he plugs in the headphones and clicks on a Frank Sinatra song called “New York, New York”. The song feels nostalgic, but there’s too many pieces to mesh together to form a complete a memory. The opening verse has him smiling, because Brooklyn was his home. At least, that’s what Steve and the Smithsonian told him. Once the song ends, he decides to play the whole playlist in order, from beginning to end, just how it should be.

He dries out his hair as he lightly bobs his head around to the music. Eventually he’s dancing by himself, enjoying what he dearly missed. The songs released when he was a teenager are coming back to him, and he finds himself mouthing the lyrics. As the playlist goes on, he’s smiling like an idiot and even laughs to himself. He hasn’t felt this liberated in a while. Small flashbacks flood his mind the more he recognizes a song: dancing in a bar with a girl wishing Steve would join them, cooking breakfast with the radio on, and during the war. He slides across his room, old dance moves taking over his body. When newer songs begin to play, he slows down and plops back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t wipe the smile off his face. He turns his head to face the wall, and looks to the left, approximately where you and Wanda are. He sighs and closes his eyes.

“Thank you, _______.”


	9. Guns and Dance

You notice a change in Bucky’s behaviour whenever you practiced for the dance. He’s more compliant, confident, and… Smiley. He tells Sam and Steve to suck it up and deal with their situation. Steve is surprised while Sam is just plain annoyed. You, on the other hand, are delighted. You never thought Bucky would be the one to crack first. Steve? Most definitely. Sam after him, and Bucky trailing behind. It’s a sheer surprise that Bucky’s the one ordering Steve and Sam around. Must be his old Sergeant days coming through.

Today is no different. You’re all sporting your workout clothes, sweat already seeping through. It’s a hot day today. Even though you can turn the A/C on at any moment, you choose not to. It’s a simple way to make them suffer. Yourself included, but that’s besides the point. To be honest, you love seeing their bodies glistened in sweat for less than innocent reasons.

“Okay, one more time! From the chorus! Five, six, seven, eight!”

You count out the beats to make it easier for them to follow along, and slow down a little for their feeble minds. They’re getting better at it, Bucky especially. You do it again at normal speed, and they hardly have any trouble with it. The song is almost completed; the worry for you now is whether they’re going to remember it or not. They have the video, but you guess you could always send them a video of them doing it right now. You secretly have F.R.I.D.A.Y. recording it for professional reasons, watching their movements, seeing what they’re doing wrong. Nowadays, you watch them for pure enjoyment.

You decide to take a breather and let them rest. Not like they need it. They’ve been through a lot worse than this, but it’s to spare your ears from their complaints.

“You guys can either rest or go train for half an hour,” you say, stretching your hands over your head. “Or, god forbid, you can keep practicing. But come back at the end.”

Sam and Steve immediately go to the weights, while Bucky lags behind to stretch. You sit on the ground cross-legged, breathing in deeply. Meditating with Sam, Steve, and Bucky in the room shouldn’t be so bad. There’s no music, but the clanging of metal could be distracting. Taking the chance, you close your eyes and begin to concentrate.

It’s not long before you wince because Sam and Steve are being so loud. Even Bucky popping his bones is irking. But you suck it up and try to clear your mind anyhow.

“What’re you doing?”

Now your mind is flooding with thoughts on how to shut people up.

You open one eye and look at Bucky, hunched over his knees and staring at you. You sigh and close your eye again, straightening up your back.

“Meditating,” you say.

“Isn’t it a little loud for that?” he points out, looking behind him to stare at Sam and Steve.

“Not if you try hard enough,” you reply. “I’m pretty good at zoning out when people talk, so I have no problems this time around.”

Bucky nods, rolling back and forth, smacking his mouth. Your eye twitches at Bucky’s little noises, but you don’t give in. You can easily block this out. No big deal. When you peek through your eyes, you see Bucky cracking his knuckles and his neck. Now you’re wondering if he wants something.

“Do you need anything, Bucky?”

“Hmm? Um… Actually I. Uhh. Do you think–”

“Come ooon. Spit it ooout.”

“Can you help me with the steps?” he asks shyly.

You smile and turn your head away, trying not to snort. He sounds like a kicked puppy, and his expression is hilariously adorable. You take pity on him and nod your head.

“Sure.”

You stand up, him following suit. You ask F.R.I.D.A.Y. to get the video back up again, and then turn around to face Bucky.

“So which part do you need help with?”

“The part after the chorus.”

You skip the video to that part, nodding your head in understanding.

“Ahhh okay okay. I got you. F.R.I.D.A.Y., you know what to do.”

You turn back around and stand by his side so he can see you better. You go slow, letting him get used to it again before picking it back up to the normal pace. His footing is the problem, you notice, so you go through that with him without all the arm movements. He tries to watch your feet, but he can’t help but look at your face. He’s half paying attention, half zoning out. He wants to learn this dance and get it over with, but you’re more than a little distracting. Why? He doesn’t know.

"Bucky? Bucky, are you listening?”

He snaps out of his thoughts and looks at you. He nods hesitantly, but you know that he’s lying.

“Okay. Do what I just did.” You feel like a petty school teacher, but if Bucky really wants to practice it he’s going to have to learn the hard way. Bucky does the moves after the chorus instead of what you just showed him. His footing is almost there, but it’s just proof that he wasn’t listening.

“Bucky. I know I have a pretty face, but please watch my feet.”

It takes every muscle in your face not to smile when Bucky widens his eyes and looks towards the floor. You’re not being vain; you’re just telling it like it is and being more confident in yourself. Getting into position again, you go through the steps with Bucky, this time with more success. Steve is eyeing you two from his little corner, a mischievous smile spread across his face.

“I don’t like that look,” Sam says as he notices Steve’s newfound happiness.

“I’m just smiling,” Steve says as he looks at Sam with his arms crossed.

“Yeah, but it’s a creepy, ‘I-know-something-you-don’t’ kind of look,” Sam explains. “Stop it.”

Steve blows his lips and picks up his weights again. Sam looks in the direction where Steve was smiling, and he sees you helping Bucky with the dance steps. He scrunches his nose at the sight.

“That? You’re smiling at  _that_?” Sam says in a mockingly judgmental tone.

“What?” Steve laughs. “I can’t smile at something like that?”

“You can smile at whatever you want, Cap,” Sam says. “But  _why_  are you smiling at them? The fact that Barnes is willingly practicing with Spyro? Or that Barnes is failing hard? I think it’s pretty hilarious. Actually, I–“

“I just think it’s nice,” Steve says, cutting off Sam. “Nice to see him smiling.”

Steve begins his reps again, leaving Sam to stare at Bucky as he tries to keep up with you. You laugh when he trips up again, which in turn makes Sam smile. He sighs and shakes his head, now thinking like Steve. He hasn’t completely warmed up to Bucky yet, but if he’s smiling because of  _you_ … He feels like a proud dad in that moment.

“Alright. Okay. I am done. Finished. You’re on your own.”

“_______, I’m trying, I swear!”

“Well, currently, you’re going to do better than Steve and Sam, but your coordination is terrible!”

“My coordination is fine!”

“Fine my ass! You’re gonna have to get Sam and Steve to help you. Even though I’m doing this too, maybe your testosterone buddies can do a better job than me.”

Bucky finally shuts up at the “testosterone buddies” comment, simply because he’s trying so hard not to laugh. It’s very true, but the way you said it has him dying on the inside. He holds his hands up as if in defence and begins backing away.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

You sputter your lips as he walks away with that stupid smile on his face.

_That smile really suits him._

You’re definitely going to enjoy watching that video later. It’s sure to bring a smile to your face for countless nights when you’re feeling a little melancholic. As Bucky returns to his workout regimen, you begin practicing new dances to new songs.

By the end of one practice, you were onto another. This time, it’s much more serious and intimidating. You’re standing in a much bigger room on the second floor. There’s a huge glass window overlooking the driveway, the reflection shining on the marble floors. There’s glass railings on either side of the room, meters apart from each other. Natasha stands in front of you, wearing her suit. You were told by her to wear yours as well, and being a compliant little soldier, you did as you were told. You think you’re just doing combat training again, only this time in your new suit, but Natasha has other plans. And it’s something you were dreading. She takes her gun out of her holster–a Glock 26–and hands it to you.

“You don’t need to look so afraid of it,” she says.

“I can’t help it,” you say. “I’ve never seen one in real life. And now I’m holding one. It feels so… foreign. Like I wasn’t meant to hold it.”

Natasha gives you a sympathetic look as she watches you turn the gun in your hands. She remembers when she first held a gun. It was strange, but she didn’t have time to get worked up over something so little. She instantly got used to it, using them on countless foam targets, until she got to the real thing. She didn’t even flinch.

She takes the gun back from your hands and turns the safety on. No matter how many guns she has, she always has the safety on and unloaded before she takes them out to use. She hands it back to you, and you stare at her with wide eyes.

“You didn’t have the safety on?!” you nearly shout. “What if I pulled the trigger and accidentally shot you?!”

“I didn’t have any worries,” she smiles.

“Why?”

“I know your personality. Mostly. I knew you wouldn’t pull it, even just to test it. You’re smarter than that.”

“That’s a little… Eh, whatever. You’re Natasha Romanoff, so you’re pretty good at reading people.”

She smiles again and backs away from you.

“You’re going to shoot it later today,” she says. “For now, I’m going to show you how to successfully disarm your opponent. Now, put the gun in your holster then pull it out. Use two hands if necessary.”

You nod, doing as she says. You’ve never used a holster either, but it’s easy enough to figure it out. You take it out as fast as you can and hold it out in front of you, using one hand to see how it feels. Your grip is a little shaky, but that’s to be expected. First time holding a gun, you’re not going to be an expert. Within the blink of an eye, Natasha painfully smacks the inside of your wrist and you drop the gun to the floor. You hold your wrist and hiss in pain, looking at her in distress.

“Um… Ouch?”

Natasha picks up the gun and twirls it in her hand. She smiles in victory as you straighten up.

“Is that the only way to do it?” you ask, rubbing your wrist. “Or is it just the most painful way?”

“Trust me,” she starts, handing you the gun, “there’s methods more painful than a slap on the wrist.”

You grip the gun in your hand, finger off the trigger. Safety or not, you don’t want to be anywhere near it. Natasha has you raise it again, still with one hand, to show you how she does it. She holds up two fingers, and places them on your wrist.

“If you put enough force on your tendons, they’ll retract and open up your hand,” she explains. “We’re going to learn about disarming your opponent before attacking them. Best that they don’t have a gun in their hands when they’re trying to kill you.”

You laugh nervously and swallow the limp in your throat. If anyone’s teaching you this, you’re glad it’s Natasha. She takes out her other gun and holds it up. You put your gun in your holster, and hold up two fingers with your right hand. You look at your wrist, approximating where Natasha had hers. It’s an educated guess at best, so you search her covered up wrist, and slap your fingers against it until you get it right.

Turns out, you don’t get it right. It takes a lot of precision to hit the wrist in just the right spot over and over again. It’s like hitting the same hole with an axe. It only happens every once in a while. Even after a lot of practice it can be difficult. Natasha has no trouble at all, and she doesn’t mind helping you for as long as it takes. She shows you multiple times how to strike the tendons when your opponent’s wrist is covered, and you end up breaking two nails from going in so hard. Having a gun in your face didn’t make things easier either. After too many attempts on your part, you decide to stop.

“Wanna do something else?” you say hopefully. “Another way to disarm? Shoot the damn thing? Beat someone up?”

Natasha sees the pleading in your expression and gives.

“Okay,” she says. “Missions can come at any time, so I think teaching you how to shoot a gun is necessary.”

For some reason you’re relieved, but you’re still nervous about actually shooting a gun. Natasha takes a remote out of her pocket and pushes a button. Three targets lower down from the ceiling behind you. You step back, watching them appear and touch the ground.

“You can work on these for a while,” she says. She takes out her gun and a magazine, putting it in place and taking the safety off. She stands a few meters away from the middle target, and you move out of the way to give her some space. She holds her gun up with one hand and shoots three times, all her shots landing in the target’s head. “You’ll be able to do this in no time. It’s not exactly point-and-shoot. For beginners, stance is important, along with how you hold it. Aim is everything, and then follow through. I’ll explain it step by step.”

Natasha does explain everything, right down to a tee. There’s times where she talked  _too_  much and then you got confused. You were about to look up “how to shoot a gun” on WikiHow before she made things easier with an example. Herself. You watched her stance, arms, eyes, aim, and follow through. You tried doing the same. It was a little sloppy, your back bent back a few times, but not too bad. You managed to at least hit the target, but not where you desired. It scared you a little when Natasha complimented you after a few more tries. It made you even more ambivalent about guns. You don’t like them, but you’re almost a natural with them? Not exactly what you were expecting, but they’re your best friend now; might as well let it go and get used to it. And getting used to things hasn’t been as bad as you’d originally thought.

You only spent an hour with Natasha on gun handling. At the present time, you’re sitting in your room, watching the video from today’s dance practice. Rather, an attempt at practice. Sam and Steve are mediocre at best now. They’re not as stiff with their arms during the robot bit in the chorus, and their footing isn’t as bad as before. Your only guess about why they still look weird is because they’re lacking the  _motivation_. You cringe as the three of them are confused as when to transition to their new spots. You skip the footage, and play it when it’s just you and Bucky.

Bucky is even more beautiful with a smile on his face. Whatever the reason he’s smiling doesn’t matter to you, because anything that can make Bucky smile is worthwhile, no matter how small it may be. You laugh quietly to yourself as you watch his wobbly legs find their way around the room. He’s not as stiff as Sam or Steve, but he’s still a little rough around the edges. You thought his metal arm would make things harder, but so far, it hasn’t. Despite the fact that the plates have to shift together properly to move his arm, it hasn’t caused any problems for him. None that you can see, anyway.

You save the video away in a new folder named “Bucky and Smiles” for whenever you’re feeling down. You thought about having F.R.I.D.A.Y. record and/or take pictures of Bucky whenever he’s smiling, but that seems a bit creepy and stalker-ish, so you’re not going to do that. This video will suffice for now.

You stand up and stretch, sighing as the bones in your shoulder blades pop. You get dressed into your suit, grab your phone, and head down to the fixed training room. You don’t know if you want to bring your new gun with you, but you decide to anyway to get used to the movement. You tie your hair up and settle your mask on your face before heading out the door. As you pass the kitchen, the lights suddenly go out. You instantly start panicking on the inside. The power could have just been cutout naturally. Or someone else is in the compound.

Instead of the normal lights, glowing red emergency lights come on. That mixed in with the sunlight coming in from the windows and the deep darkness obscures your eyes a little. You hoped that Tony would have  _actual_ backuppower instead of this. Your heart starts beating a mile a minute in your chest, pounding against your ribcage. You shakily call out, hoping someone will answer. Instead, there’s a loud crack and yell. You toss your phone on the counter and pull out your gun from your holster. You take the safety off, and keep your finger off the trigger for now. You take quiet, hesitant steps towards the source of the noise with your back against the wall. You’ve watched enough episodes of  _Criminal Minds_  to know what happens next.

You keep your arms held high, and your feet shoulder width apart as you creep along the wall. When a corner comes up, you take a breath before sharply turning the corner and flicking your gun left and right. You can’t see anything, which doesn’t ease your anxiety at all. One quick look over your shoulder tells you there’s no one in the training room. You keep walking forward, tip-toeing along the way. You can hear heavy groaning a few feet ahead. They sound like they’re in pain. You pray to god that it’s not an enemy, because you don’t think your stomach can handle such a situation.

The groaning is getting closer and closer. You hover your finger over the trigger, and take one hand off to feel where you’re going. There’s a door to your right, which is where the grunts of pain are coming from. You turn towards the door, brows furrowed and breathing short. This is it. Life or death. You outstretch your hand towards the doorknob and grasp it. Right when you’re about to swing it open, two people come tumbling through it.

You scream in fear, and you nearly pull the trigger when you realize who it is.

“Sam?! Bucky?! Honestly, what the  _fuck_?!”

You put the safety back on and drop it back in your holster. You take a step back to lean against the wall and take deep breaths as Sam and Bucky continue to whimper. You glare at them, actually wanting to shoot one of them.

“You guys scared the hell out of me!” you exclaim. “I could’ve shot one of you!”

You slide down to the floor and hold your face in your hands. You just almost shot Sam and Bucky. You would not recover from something like that. Sam is the first to speak up after a moment of silence.

“Sorry, Spyro,” he says weakly, raising a hand in apology. “We busted the electrical panel.”

“ _We_?” Bucky hisses. “You tossed me into it!”

“Only because you were being annoying, Barnes,” Sam snaps.

“So you decide to cut the power to the whole compound?” Bucky retorts.

“That’s enough.”

The sharp tone to your voice makes Bucky and Sam stop their bickering and look up at you. If looks could kill, they’d be dead. You see that Bucky’s head is bleeding, and Sam’s arm has a few cuts on it. Nothing that can’t be repaired.

“You do realize that the both of you are alive right now?” you say venomously. “One, or even the both of you, could’ve been dead a few seconds ago. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

They both look guilty now for having put you through such a panic. Bucky looks at the floor in shame, while Sam scoffs at him and speaks again.

“I’m sorry, _______,” he says gently. “I didn’t think anyone else was here. I didn’t hear anything.”

“You mean  _we_  didn’t think anyone was here, and  _we_  didn’t hear anything,” Bucky corrects him.

“Oh, so  _now_  it’s ‘we’?” Sam says sassily.

“Just. Don’t,” you spit. “Christ. Yell out next time that it’s just a power failure instead of giving me an ulcer. Jesus…”

You know that you’ll have to shoot an enemy at  _some_  point, unless you can defeat them using your pyrokinesis first. The whole ominous and do-or-die feeling is still  _very_  new to you, given what just happened. Your first mission was just as threatening and frightening; a few nightmares here and there about it but you weren’t scarred. But this time around… it’s too terrifying. It makes you feel like you’re in a horror movie where you know you’re about to die next. It’s not a good feeling.

After a few deep breaths, you stand back up and help Sam and Bucky to their feet. Sam may need stitches, but you don’t know about Bucky. He’s hurt on the other side of his head, opposite to what you treated last time. You begin walking back the way you came in silence, Sam and Bucky still seething. When you enter the kitchen, you feel around for you phone on the counter. When you have it, you turn on your flashlight and shine it in their faces. They shut their eyes and hold their hands up. Clear as day, Sam’s cuts  _do_  need stitches, and so does Bucky’s forehead. It’s like a face period.

“Okay, guys,” you say. “Time to go to the med lab.”

You don’t know how to get there, so Sam leads the way with your phone in his hand. You grab some paper towels from the island before you leave and have Bucky hold it against his head. Sam does the same after a glare and some scolding. There’s red everywhere you look since the power won’t come back on for a while thanks to them. You’re still bitter, but you tone it down since it was an accident. Supposedly.

The medical staff is confused as to why the power is out as well, so you have Sam and Bucky explain why that is. You don’t need to be here any longer, so you take your phone back from Sam and begin going back. But one of the doctors tells you to stay so they can see what they’re doing. You sigh loudly like a sassy teenager, and stand in front of Sam and Bucky as the doctors do their good work.

Sam understands how you’re feeling. First time you’re using a gun for  _real_ , and you end up almost shooting your teammates. It’s not a pleasant emotion to be feeling. However, he thinks you’re overreacting a bit. It happened a few minutes ago. He’s over it. But he’s not sure you are.

"Spyro?”

You don’t look at him.

“_______?”

You flick your eyes over to him then look away again. That’s enough for Sam.

“Look. I’m still–” He stops short when Bucky whips his head around to glare at him. “ _We_ , are still sorry about what happened. But don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little bit?”

“I know.”

“I know that it was your first–wait, what?”

“I said, I know I’m overreacting. I had my moment of anguish. I’m over it.”

“Oh.”

Sam nods his head and hisses as the doctor continues to thread the needle through his arm. You give a quick glance to Bucky; he’s staring straight forward, not saying a word. You raise an eyebrow, but think nothing of it. You take off your mask and loop it around your wrist. You think about what would’ve happened if it  _wasn’t_  Sam and Bucky behind that door. You know you would panic, and probably be too scared to pull the trigger. But next time this happens (hopefully not), you’re going to be ready for them, and not hesitate. There’s no room for people like that in the Avengers.

“What the hell is this?”

Everyone stops what they’re doing to turn around and look at the newest arrival. Tony’s still in his Iron Man suit; it has a few scratches on it.

“Here I am, thinking I’ll be relaxing after that shit show I just had and I come home to this?”

“Well if there was  _real_  backup power we wouldn’t be in this mess,” you hiss.

“Actually, we wouldn’t be in this mess if these two right here weren’t near each other,” Tony says, pointing his finger at Sam and Bucky.

You can’t deny that. Sam still has some bad blood with Bucky, and he just can’t seem to get over it. It’s not for you to judge though. You don’t know what happened. It may have to do with the events that happened in D.C. a few years ago after you did a little research. A few videos showed the destruction of three helicarriers, but nothing really about Steve or Natasha or Sam. Not even Bucky. He was too dangerous to get close to, but some people are stupid enough to do it anyway. It’s the first time Sam met Bucky, so that’s probably where the feud started. You don’t confirm nor deny what Tony says. Everyone in the room knows.

“Well, whatever happened happened,” you say. “Do you know a way to get the lights back on? The electrical panel is roasted.”

Tony sighs as he walks forward and stares at Bucky with a judgmental look on his face. You snap your fingers in front of his eyes.

“Hey, did you h–“

“Calm down, hellfire,” Tony says. “It can be fixed. I’ll have a look at it. Just keep these two apart at all times. I don’t need them destroying anything else in this place.”

He leaves without another word, not caring enough to see how their injuries are. Tony hardly ever smiles when he’s in his Iron Man suit, so you brush off his attitude as just another one of his bad days. You keep track of the Avengers’ moods and behaviours sometimes in your Avengers notebook. You’ve kept it well hidden, but no one’s stupid enough to go in your room without permission. Or else you’ll showcase a little fire dance for them.

After a few more minutes of wincing, hissing, and gauze wrapping, Sam and Bucky are all stitched up. You crack your knuckles after you turn your phone off. The med lab is enveloped in the red glow of the emergency lights again, but this time, no one protests. The doctors have done their job for now, so unless they have a life to save, they’re not complaining. Sam moves his arms slowly to get a feel for the pain. He bites his lip when they’re almost outstretched. You don’t know how many stitches he got, but it seems like a lot if he can’t move that much. He won’t be going on missions for a while. Unless he sneaks himself out. That’d be a Sam thing to do. Bucky, on the other hand, doesn’t move. He gingerly touches the gauze around his head. He flinches, then settles his hand back in his lap. There’s a painful silence in the air that you don’t want to be a part of.

“Take care of yourselves.”

You leave without another word, and without looking over your shoulder. You’re not mad at them anymore, but you’re mad at yourself for being so emotional about one little mistake you could have made.

_But you have the right to be emotional about it._

Just thinking about accidentally shooting Sam or Bucky would be scarring for you. Even in a non-vital area, like their arm or leg, would keep you awake for nights to come. It probably will anyway. You had never felt so scared in your life. You’re still not used to using a gun, even after having shooting practice. You haven’t fired it against a real person yet, and that’s something you’re not looking forward to. All sense of reality and remembering everything Natasha taught you will be wiped out in the very moment when the time comes to take your first victim. You don’t have to speculate; you know it will happen.

When you get back to your room, you toss your gun on your bed and unstrap your holster from your leg. You flash your flashlight again and tuck them away securely under your bed. Well, it’s not quite secure as a safe, but you can hold your own if someone wanted to take it.

You know you cannot just sit around in the red darkness, so you head back to the room where the electrical panel is. There’s a brighter light moving under the door; you open the door to reveal Tony, using his suit as a flashlight as he fixes the panel.

“How’s it look?” you ask quietly.

“Nothing I can’t repair,” he replies, a few sparks flying. “I’d rather not have to do this, but we have two idiots in the compound so it must be done.”

You smile out of spite and watch him work his magic as he fixes the panel. He can do this in no time, but you’d rather not stand here and watch him, bored out of your mind.

“Where is everyone else?” you ask. “Steve, Wanda, Nat, and Vision?”

“Out,” Tony answers. He doesn’t give you much more than that. Sighing, you nod your head and turn back around. You don’t want to be alone while the lights are off, but you’re a human torch. You can light the way wherever you go. You put your phone on the counter as you enter the kitchen and get out your lighter instead. You make a small fireball in your hand and leave your lighter on the counter as well. It’s very inconvenient that F.R.I.D.A.Y. is inoperable at the moment. You could use a little guidance right now.

You’ve been to the hangar enough times to remember where to go. You don’t want to feel alone, so you’re going to wait there for everyone to come back. There’s a high possibility that they took a quinjet. You burn your fire brighter as you walk down the stairs, watching your footing at all times. When you come to a landing, you hear footsteps in front of you. You immediately stop, and grip the handlebar with your free hand. Now you’re even more freaked out.

“Sam?” you call. “Bucky?” No one answers. If it was Nat, Steve, Wanda, or Vision, they’d tell you otherwise. But since you hear none of their voices, you know it’s an unknown subject. You’re at an advantage if they don’t have a gun; if they do, you might be in a slight pinch.

You stand against the railing, and bring both your hands forward to push the fire outwards. You don’t see anyone from the illumination. You tip-toe down the stairs, keeping your eyes forward. You have no idea if the team is just messing with you, but if they are it’s definitely not funny. It’s pitch black, and the only emergency light flashing is all the way across the room. Your fire will serve as your flashlight and your weapon.

When you reach the bottom of the stairs, you keep close to the railing and your breathing low. You know the layout of the hangar, despite it just being a big empty space. You creep away from the stairs and quickly whip your fire around to illuminate the space beneath it. You flick your eyes left and right as you check the stairs, your heart pounding in your chest. You don’t have a lot of patience when you’re scared, so when you’re done your sweep, you press your back against the railing and spread your fire out even more.

You divert it to avoid the two other quinjets sitting in the hangar. Looks like they took the third one. You don’t see anyone there. You think maybe you’re imagining things, but that only makes you more anxious.

“Alright,” you shout. “This isn’t fucking funny anymore. Show yourself or I swear to god, I will set this entire room on fire.”

From behind the quinjets comes a small group of men. Seven dressed in a combat uniform, each holding an assault rifle. The eighth man is bald and wearing a suit. You don’t see a HYDRA logo on any of them, but that doesn’t mean they’re not a threat. You keep your guard up as baldy takes a step closer.

“Who are you?” you ask. The man looks you up and down, then at the fire spreading around him.

“Could you stop that, please?” he asks. “It’s intimidating my men.”

You flick your eyes to the other seven, and they’re all wearing an expression of slight fear. Looking back at baldy, you narrow your eyes.

“No,” you say, making your fire encircle the seven.

“There’s no need to be afraid, miss _______,” baldy says.

“Just because you know my name doesn’t mean I’m going to trust you,” you say, encircling him as well.

“I’m Agent Phil Coulson,” he says, sweat beading on his forehead from the flames. “From S.H.I.E.L.D. I came by to see how our new pupil is doing.”

_S.H.I.E.L.D.?_

S.H.I.E.L.D. is no secret, yet they are. You’ve heard their name mentioned a couple of times when you “accidentally” eavesdropped on Tony’s and Steve’s conversations. Plus, Steve has said to your face that he was alive when S.H.I.E.L.D. was founded. Or rather, it was in the works. They were too busy with a war to make things official at the time.

Baldy takes out his badge and holds it up for you to see. You walk towards him, separating the ring of fire around him. You squint at it, and see his ID says that he  _is_  in fact Agent Phil Coulson. It has S.H.I.E.L.D.’s logo in the background, and his picture. Seems legit enough. But you’re not an expert in fake identities. You’ll take his word for it.

“Fine.” You retract your fire from around Coulson and his men, and instead project it above your head to keep everyone from being in the dark. “The newest pupil is fine, thank you.”

Phil motions his men to lower their weapons, and they obey without question. He seems legit now, because he doesn’t want to kill you. It’s a comforting thought.

“Anything else?” you ask, narrowing your eyes as Phil doesn’t say anything else.

“Has your stay been welcoming?”

“Plenty.”

“Any problems?”

“Personal.”

“Missions?”

“Only been on one. I’m sure you’ve seen the footage.”

“Any complaints?”

“Don’t sneak around when the power’s out. It’s creepy, and I’d have no problem scorching you alive if you didn’t tell me who you were.”

“And why is the power out in the first place?”

“Two team members had a fight. Blew the electrical panel. Tony’s fixing it now.”

“I see. May I speak with him?”

“Be my guest. But your friends have to wait outside. Their presence doesn’t exactly say ‘I-want-to-sit-down-and-have-some-afternoon-tea’.”

Phil looks behind him, and some of his men look crestfallen. But if Phil wants to see Tony, then his pals will have to stay behind.

“Wait here. I won’t take long.”

They stay put as you begin walking away with Phil back up the stairs, fire in hand. It’s a silent walk back upstairs. You don’t want to learn more about S.H.I.E.L.D. because honestly, you couldn’t care less. Phil doesn’t try to make additional conversation, which is fine by you. Although there is the nagging feeling to know more, you keep your mouth shut. He’ll probably only answer your questions as “that’s classified”, and there is nothing more annoying than a person who won’t give you a straightforward answer. You have no idea if Sam and Bucky are still in the med lab, but you just hope you won’t run into them on the way.

Once you hit the kitchen, you pick up the pace, because it’s always a place where people seem to pop up. The heart of the home is in the kitchen, as mothers say. Phil keeps up no problem, but gives you a confused look from behind your back. Once you reach the designated room, you take your leave.

“Tony, Agent Coulson. Agent Coulson, Tony. Goodbye.”

You strut out of there despite their questioning expressions. You need to find a place where you  _know_  you won’t be disturbed.

“She seems nice,” Phil says as he watches you exit the room. “Grounded. Disciplined.”

“She’s a little shit, actually,” Tony says, still focusing on his work, not looking Phil in the eyes. “But I do like the fact that she refers to you as ‘agent’ instead of ‘Phil’ like she’s best friends with you.”

Phil sighs and shakes off Tony’s childish attitude, getting straight to the point.

“I think she’s ready,” he says. Tony’s hand freezes over the panel for a second, before he shrugs off what Phil said and keeps working.

“What makes you think that?”

“She’s cautious. Takes her own initiative. You got her suit ready, which makes things easier. Her first mission wasn’t a complete failure. She can handle it.”

“This is too big for her, Coulson,” Tony argues. “She’s had  _one_  mission.  _One_. She’s not up for this.”

“Well that’s up to her,” Phil rebuttals. Tony stops again and sighs in annoyance.

“Look, Coulson,” he starts, staring him in the eyes. “She’s just a kid. But she can be just as angry as Banner when he turns into a green rage monster. She could’ve easily burned something because  _that’s_  how angry she was. But she didn’t. Probably because she’s scared. And she  _just_  learned how to use a gun. I’m not sending her on a suicide mission just to test her ability.”

“We would supervise,” Phil says calmly. “We’d be around her at all times.”

“And then what?” Tony asks, raising his voice. “You’ll just leave her there, hanging by a thread, to see if she can figure it out for herself? Instead of charging in and saving her? No. It’s not happening. I’m not going to be held responsible for her death.”

“You underestimate us sometimes, Stark,” Phil replies. “We can ensure her safety; I can assure you that. If worse comes to worse, we’ll step in and take over. But we want– _need_ , to see what she can do. Otherwise she won’t be much use.”

“We’re not playthings for your disposal, Coulson,” Tony says seriously. “Believe it or not, having S.H.I.E.L.D. off our radar–or anyone’s, really–is a spectacular thing. The Avengers Initiative was a success, and a downfall. We’re still together as you can see, but seeing you means trouble. And I don’t want any of that around here. So you can forget it.”

Phil knows he’s not going to get anywhere with Tony, so he’s going to go straight to the source. You.

“I can’t say I’m not disappointed, nor surprised,” Phil says as he buttons his jacket. “I just wanted to run it by you before we proceed.” Tony goes to protest but Phil is already out the door. “She’ll never agree to it!” Tony shouts after him.

“We’ll see.”


	10. Hellfire

A few hours later, the lights are back on, and Nat, Steve, Wanda, and Vision returned during that time. All the same questions and answers were given. “Why are the lights off?” “Sam and Bucky had a fight and they broke the electrical panel.” Cue a disappointed dad look from Steve.

You’re sitting in the kitchen like you usually do when you’re bored, twirling your phone in your hands. Everyone is scattered about around the compound. Steve’s either talking with Tony or Bucky and Sam. Natasha and Wanda are taking a shower, and Vision is… Somewhere. You’re still in your battle uniform, because you were too lazy to change out of it. Plus, it’s pretty comfortable.

Your ringer scares the life out of you, and you hastily answer the unknown number.

“Hello?”

“_______? It’s Phil Coulson. We spoke earlier today.”

“Oh. Hi. Um… How did you–”

“I have an assignment for you if you’re interested.”

“An assignment?”

“A solo assignment.”

That catches your attention. A solo assignment already? Only after participating in  _one_  mission? They think you’re ready for that? The thought scares you to death. You don’t even have enough confidence in yourself to take on something alone. You need at least Natasha or Wanda or Steve. You need  _someone_  to help you out. You bite your lip at his offer.

“I’m not sure,” you reply honestly. “I’ve only been on one mission. And it was with Steve and Natasha and Tony. I don’t think I’m ready for a solo mission yet.”

“I understand.” It’s hard to tell if he’s disappointed or not. “Maybe think it over a little, and get back to me by eight o'clock tonight.”

He hangs up without explaining any further. You stare at your phone as you process what just happened. An agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. just offered you an assignment, a  _solo_  assignment no less, and you turn it down? There’s nothing bad about going alone. Make your own rules, no one to slow you down or trip you up. Not following Tony’s pretentious orders. It sounds like a pretty good deal. The only thing holding you back is the mission itself.

Something unpredictable? Probably. Dangerous? Of course. A matter of life and death? No doubt. Complications? When are there not? Would you tell the team? Nope. You’re a skilled liar. You can take their attention away from you.

This is an opportunity to prove yourself, as well. To the team, to S.H.I.E.L.D., and to yourself.

Could you do it? Of course.  _If_  you had more training. You can’t simply say something cheesy like “believe in yourself” because one, it makes you cringe saying something like that out-loud, and two, it doesn’t work. Not all the time. You’d rather be pessimistic 24/7, because then if something works out you can be happy about it.

You have an hour and a half to think things over. Which also means you have an hour and a half to have the anxiety kick in and suffer for that time. Might as well get started early. You make a bowl of fruit before sitting on the couch and mulling things over.

* * *

Turns out, you’re braver than you thought you’d ever be.

You call agent Phil Coulson about an hour later, accepting his solo mission for you. You know you need to think of an excuse to tell everyone about why you’re leaving so late. It’s simple enough: you’re going for a walk. Or a drive. And if you encounter anyone on the way out, you’ll think of another lie. Your battle uniform will be under your clothes, so they shouldn’t suspect anything. They know you’re a weird one sometimes. It shouldn’t be a problem.

“Shouldn’t” being the operative word.

You make sure none of your suit is peeking out under your clothes, keeping your hands in your pockets and your head down. You take one last look in the mirror, and breathe in deeply. This is it. Your first solo mission, which is also only your second mission. Better late than never. Grabbing your lighter, you head out of your room and to the front entrance. Running into anyone else other than Tony would be a blessing. Tony would tell you to stay, no matter what you were going to do.

You speed-walk down the halls, and again, you’re wondering where everyone is. During this time of night, they’re usually holed up or their rooms or wandering around, looking for something to do. You can’t worry about them right now. Right now, you just need to get out of the compound and drive to your meet-up destination with Phil. You cannot get distracted. Not tonight.

You skip down the steps to the foyer, and you can see the doors from where you are. You dig your nails into your palms and brace yourself. You keep up the speed-walk, and you reach out for the door handle when a voice stops you.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You retract your hand and turn around. Sam has a questioning look on his face. You smile, because Sam is easy to lie to and a little gullible at times.

“Going for a drive,” you say confidently.

“Where?”

“Around.”

“Where are you really going?”

You feign being caught and look at the floor in embarrassment.

“Late night McDonald’s run. Want anything?”

He perks up at the sound of that, momentarily forgetting about his suspicion.

“20 nuggets with a rootbeer.”

“You got it.”

You give him a wave and walk out the doors. That was almost too easy.

Jumping in one of the cars in the driveway, you zoom out of there and head towards a mini mart a few miles down the road.

* * *

When you pull up in the parking lot, you can see a fancy looking van to your right. You stay in the car until you can see Phil lingering around, or any of his other agents. The car next to you rolls its window down, revealing Phil. You nod at him and get out of the car, locking it as you round the corner. You lean against the passenger door and stick your hands in your pockets as Phil emerges and hands you an iPad.

“This the mission?” you ask, unlocking it.

“Mostly,” he answers.

It’s a picture of a pretentious looking man. Coiffed hair, five-day stubble, structured face. You don’t like him already. And he also seems kind of brutish, but that’s only because there’s a nasty looking scar on his neck. You don’t want to know how it got there.

“Marko Snyders,” Phil explains, crossing his arms. “He’s been a bug in our side for a while. He’s gathered too much information on S.H.I.E.L.D. and has a fair interest in weapons of mass destruction.”

“That’s never good,” you comment as you flip through his surveillance pictures.

“There’s a whole list of things we can arrest him for,” Phil says.

“So you want me to capture him then?” you guess.

“Correct,” he affirms. “Infiltration comes first. You need to get him to trust you. Get close to him. He’ll have his bodyguards with him, so you’ll have to get past them. If worse comes to worst, you can use as much force as you want.”

“As much as I want?” you repeat, pulling a face at the photos of his bodyguards. They’re nearly as big as Steve.

“As much as you want. Within reason.”

“Of course. I’ll enjoy burning the place down and finding their bodies in the ashes.”

The smile you’re making is a little eerie to say the least, and Phil clears his throat to divert your attention back to him.

“We have something for you to wear,” he says. That immediately catches your attention.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” you ask, looking down at your black attire.

“The location you’re going to is a high-end club,” Phil clarifies.

“So that means low lights, alcohol, and lots of people mushed together?” you ponder.

“Exactly.”

“Then what I have on is fine, really. No one will even notice me dressed like this.”

“They will.”

“They won’t. Listen, how many girls have come up to this guy, dressed to the nines, and send him winks and flirtatious vibes? Dozens, probably. Maybe I can do things a little differently. Act like a normal person and ‘get to know him’ like you want me to.”

“You won’t get through the front door looking like that, _______. The club is named ‘Death Row’ for a reason. So trust me, I suggest you take the clothes we’ve arranged for you.”

You narrow your eyes at him, biting your cheek. Is he serious? If so, then Natasha is perfect for this mission. She’s done countless missions where she had to dress for the target and seduce them before breaking their neck. She hasn’t taught you how to act in these kinds of situations yet, so you’ll have to improvise. Sighing in defeat, you hand the iPad back to him and nod your head.

“Fine, I’ll wear whatever you got,” you agree. “It better be a goddamn dress.”

“It is,” he says quickly.

“And I’ll have you know that my flirting skills are in the negatives,” you comment, watching his reaction. He doesn’t budge. “So if something goes wrong, or is he suspects that something’s up, then I won’t hesitate to drag him out of there.”

“Understood,” Phil says. “We will be waiting on standby. Did you bring your gun?” You shake your head.

“Thought my power would be enough. Plus, if it’s crowded and dark, I don’t want to injure someone that isn’t the desired target. I can fight, I can tell you that. I can’t say that there won’t be complications, because there will be, since this is only my second mission. So, please bear with my eccentricities.”

“Already in progress,” he says. He opens his car door and tosses you a plastic bag. “Suit up.”

* * *

The dress they gave you isn’t that bad. It’s a strapless, deep red cocktail dress with ruffles along the bottom. You honestly like the dress, and will probably keep it afterwards if they ask for it back. Your lighter is tucked away in the boddess, and you pray that it stays there with whatever happens. It’s a disappointment that you had to leave your battle uniform in your car, but what must be done must be done. They even brought you simple black heels for the occasion (You don’t want to know how they got your shoe size). And, of course, they had to fix your hair and face. Some light curls, a little foundation, red lipstick, and you’re good to go. You were able to get through the front door; it’s not a “you’re not on the list” type of club, which is pretty convenient, because you didn’t know if you could flatter your way inside.

Right now you’re sitting at the bar with a small glass of tequila in your hand, scoping out the place. Phil gave you an ear piece so he can give you directions and when things get too heated. You know you can’t get too wasted, or else your movements will slack and lose effect. For now, one glass is enough.

You look up from the bar, and see Marko strolling in with his bodyguards, face serious as he looks around the room. His eyes land on you for a split second before going to the back corner of the club and sits on a loveseat.

_That must be where he always sits._

You keep looking at him, in hopes at getting his attention. You cross your legs and raise your eyebrow, taking another sip of your tequila.

“I see him,” you say to Phil.

“Go to him,” Phil instructs.

“Or how about I get him to come to me?” you counter.

You set your drink down on the bar and fix your body language, facing the bar completely. You look over your shoulder several times, smiling sweetly in hopes that Marko will look over. On your fifth attempt, he does.

You try to pull your best seductive look, and he responds by stretching his arms over the couch and spreading his legs, smirking all the while.

_Fuckin’ pervert._

You bite your bottom lip, and swing in your stool to face him. You nod your head to the side, silently asking him to come over. He gestures the empty spot next to him, but you don’t back down. You cross your other leg over the other and lean on your thighs, squeezing your arms together so your chest pops out for him. You’d rather not be doing this for him, but you have to if you want to call this mission a success.

He licks his lips and leans forward in his seat. He looks like he’s contemplating on whether or not to join you.

_Take the bait, asshole._

You twirl a piece of your hair between your fingers and keep smiling like he wasn’t the most disgusting thing in the world. He doesn’t have an unfortunate face, which only peeves you off even more. He’s not your type, but he’s certainly everyone else’s. After the longest minute of your life, he gets up from his chair and struts over to you, pushing his body guards away as he shamelessly eyes you up and down.

_Gross._

You sit up straight as he plops down next to you and orders two shots of vodka. You raise an eyebrow at the order. Vodka? You treat vodka like a juice box, chugging it down no problem. You can’t have too many of those, or else you’re really going to lose it as the night goes on.

You decide not to open up with your name, so you make “friendly” conversation instead.

“What’s a man like you doing in a place like this?” you ask, sipping down the last of your tequila.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replies, downing his vodka as soon as the bartender slides it over. He gestures to yours with a raised eyebrow.

You pick it up, smiling kindly.

“Here’s to people like us.”

You toss is back, then slam the shot glass back on the bar. It burns your throat, but it’s actually kind of calming at the moment. You’re a lightweight, which makes you more verbal. And that is exactly what you need right now.

“Seriously though, what are you doing here?” he presses. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

_Thinking of ways to kill you._

“Trying something new,” you respond, your smile faltering a little. You can see the scar on his neck without even directly looking at it; his bodyguards have their eyes on you both, hands folded in front of them, expressions serious. You gulp nervously. “I don’t get out much.”

“Such a shame for a pretty face like yours to be kept hiding,” he smirks, waving his hand at the bartender.

 _That is_ not  _what I want to hear from you._

“Keep the conversation going,” Phil says. “More talk means more trust. Get him outside if you can.”

“Got it,” you answer quietly.

You think back to all the movies you’ve watched in the past about seducing men in a crowded club like this one. The woman is dressed to lure the man in, getting him to order her a drink, they skip off to one of their apartments to hook up. But does that honestly happen in real life? And on specific missions like these? You’re skeptical about the Hollywood film industry and its plotlines, but you might as well take a shot, right? Literally and figuratively.

Phil said the club is called “Death Row” for a reason. A lot of murders must have occurred here. That’s the only reason you can think of for it’s particular name. The red glow of the lights really fits the theme.

Saving that question for another time, you clear your throat and pay attention to the situation at hand. You have a dangerous man sitting in front of you. And you need to get him to Phil.

“So what about you?” you ask curiously. “You seem to come here often enough to know that I’m a newcomer.”

Mark huffs a laugh and leans against the bar, cocking his head to the side.

“Yeah, I do come here often,” he replies without missing a beat. “Probably a little too much.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“I sort of have a reputation,” he explains, ordering another round. “Not the good kind.”

“Oooh you sound pretty dangerous then,” you coo, licking your lips. “Leading a dangerous life seems like your style, misterrr?”

“Snyders,” he replies, holding out his hand. “Marko Snyders.”

“Nice to meet your acquaintance, Mr. Snyders,” you reply, shaking his hand. “I’m _______.” You thought about using a different name, but you’re not sure that would’ve been a good idea. Might as well use the truth once in a while.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” he comments. You smile sweetly, despite wanting to punch the guy in the face.

“Thank you,” you reply shyly.

“No problem.”

It’s getting harder to figure out ways to get him outside. It’s too early on to invite him back to a hotel or to go to his place. There’s only one exit in the entire club, besides the entrance. And it just happens to be in the back corner, right beside Marko’s goons. Your eye twitches in annoyance. Of course. Out of all the places for an exit to be, it just had to be beside two men that could snap your neck faster than you could say “poptarts”.

Nevertheless, this mission is about keeping the clubbers out of the line of fire, and to get Marko in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hands. That is all you’re here to do tonight. Hopefully you’ll come out of this unscathed.

But to do your job right, you’re going to have to bump up your game. Even if it means getting drunker and losing your sense of judgment and mobility. That’s what it means to be an Avenger. Or something like that.

You order another round of shots, and quickly slide them down your throat. The effect of the alcohol may not happen immediately, but knowing that it will assures you enough to open up more and smile. You also order a margarita to give your hand something to hold on to.

“So, Markoooo Snnnnnyders,” you slur, trying to act cute. He smirks and raises a playful brow. “Mr. Dangerous. Mysterious Man Sny. How did you come to find this place? And what makes you stay? It seems like any club I’ve seen lining the streets of the city.”

Not technically your best angle, but you’ve got to keep him talking to think of ways to get him out of here. Maybe if you act like you’re actually into him and not trying to dropkick his ass to Phil, you may have a chance of getting him to leave with you. It’s worth a shot; but you’ve got to get to know him first. You’re not an expert at reading facial expressions and body language, but you know enough. Wait for a moment for him to drop his guard. But even that may not even be enough. What would you threaten him with? Un-promised sex? He probably has men surrounding the place and a bomb placed underground to the city’s main electrical cables. God knows what else this man may have up his sleeve.

You just hope weapons of mass destruction are not on his list tonight.

He takes a sip of the Corolla he ordered earlier as he ponders his answer. You flit your eyes all around you, just as a precaution. You don’t know if you’ll need more space than you have to beat his ass.

“I built this place,” he finally responds, setting his beer down. You’re visibly shocked.

“You’re kidding,” you say, looking at him in complete surprise. Phil didn’t tell you that. Maybe it was to make your reactions more authentic. Smart strategy. Sneaky.

“’Fraid not, miss,” he replies, clearly enjoying your disbelief. “Back in ’89, I did that sort of stuff. It was my most proud work. It’s been through a few renovations since then. I’ve never stopped coming to this place because it’s my first establishment. It’s good to see that it’s still racking in the dough and customers. Its reputation is sketchy to say the least because of all that it’s been through. That may all be in the past, but people tend to not forget.”

“Wow. That’s… pretty awesome. The design is amazing, by the way. Everything is sleek and in style. Very impressive.”

“More pretty words from the pretty girl.”

 _Yikes_.

Another sip of the margarita, please. Honestly, you don’t know how much longer you can keep this up. The whole of the mission has been making your body tremble, and the thought of getting shot, or someone being killed in your place is mortifying. But, the more you drink and let go, everything seems… actually calm and a little fun. It’s a little scary to be thinking like that, but you just can’t help yourself. The first thing to do was calm your nerves, and you did. The next step was getting Marko to do the same thing. You feel like you’re getting the tiniest bit closer, but you wouldn’t count on it. It all depends on how he reacts and what he says.

After a decent gulp of your drink, you slam it down on the bar and lick your lips. You stare at him with lidded eyes, solely focused on him. You tap your foot on the floor with the beat, and dare yourself to ask him to dance. Leaning back against your seat, you flick your hair to the side and cock your head as you look him up and down.

“Wanna dance?”

He smiles obnoxiously, and twists his beer on the bar. His eyes squint in caution, though. He gives you a once-over, wondering if he should. Phil hears silence, other than the loud music and thrush of the crowd.

“_______? _______? What’s going on?”

“So,” you start, after hearing Phil’s voice. “What will it be? Shall we have this dance, Mr. Snyders? Or shall I find myself a new partner?”

Coincidentally, being the dominant, alpha male he is, Marko frowns and his eyes narrow. The thought of another man having you to himself pisses him off. Just the mere sight of the men dancing behind you on the floor makes his stomach churn in discomfort. He’s not about to let another man’s hands on you. He gets out of his seat, straightens out his shirt, and takes your hand, dragging you to the dance floor. He grips your hand tightly as he spins you into him, just like in the movies.

 _Good god_.  _I’d rather do this with Tony_.

His face is inches from yours, but your line of sight is on his neck. He sees you eyeing it, and answers your question directly. Not like you had it in the first place.

“I got into a horrid knife fight a few years back,” he explains, swaying his body against yours. “And a nasty fight means nasty scars.”

“You don’t say,” you whisper, trailing your eyes back up to his face. This is way too close for your liking. You twirl yourself back out before he pulls you back in and places his hands on your waist. He squeezes, and you gasp.

 _That tickles, you prick_.

However, he takes your reaction as permission to do it more, and to press himself against you. Swallowing your pride, you wrap your arms around his neck, and move your body in time with his. The beat of the music thumps in your ears and courses through your bones. You can hardly think straight. Now you’re sort of regretting drinking so much. You can feel your decisive mind waning as the alcohol spreads to your head. Here’s to hoping to a weak hangover in the morning.

Marko runs his hands along your body without a care. How indecent. And gross. You feel like you’re being molested. Your fingers tremble around his neck. No. You cannot let your nerves get the best of you. Thinking on your feet, you imagine it’s not Marko feeling you up like this, but Bucky.

It’s kind of shameful and creepy to be thinking of him like that in a situation like this, but desperate times call for  _drastic_  measures. Bucky is a much better person to be doing things like this, and you like the guy, so it’s not like you can help yourself. You close your eyes, and imagine it’s Bucky standing behind you, gently swaying your hips side-to-side, whispering sweet thoughts in your ear instead of having heavy, hot breath violating your neck. Your imagination seems to do the trick, because you relax against Marko and let the beat carry you.

Meanwhile, Phil and his team are outside in a black van, listening in to everything that they can hear. Unbeknownst to you, there is one more agent inside undercover. Phil thought about letting you know about her presence, but he stopped himself. He also stopped himself from telling you about the miniscule, hidden cameras as well. He wants to see what you’d do if you thought you were alone. A cruel tactic to see what you’re made of, but he trusts his judgments. And if things go downhill, he’ll make the call for his other agents to take action.

But for now, he and his team simply observe.

You take the time to pull yourself from your Bucky-induced thoughts to think of more ways to get Marko out of here without raising alarm. His bodyguards have got to be the first ones to go. But how would you do that? Their number one priority is the safety of Marko, and they can secure him pretty easily. It’d be two-against-one, and your odds of winning would be slim. A few months of training isn’t going to cut it against bulky meat suits like them. Natasha sure, Wanda definitely, since she can bring a man to his knees without even touching him. Unnecessary envy isn’t going to get you out of this right now, so you need to think of your options.

Option One: You flat-out ask Marko back to your apartment. Lead him to Phil. Job done. No causalities.

Option Two: Try to take down agents Meat and Meatier before Marko. If that goes well, threaten Marko with fire and lead him outside. No causalities.

Option Three: Pull off mission impossible and take down three men twice your size in a crowded club full of innocent civilians without any causalities.

Option Four: Call off the mission and let Phil do it himself. Professional and clean. No causalities.

When it all comes down to it, you can only take one path. So which is it going to be? Standard procedure, or go by the one less traveled by? There is no time to hesitate. You must choose. Otherwise this whole mission will turn out to be a failure and innocent blood will be on your hands, not to mention that–

“Wanna get outta here?”

Well. That certainly wasn’t an option you were expecting to arise. Your eyes fly open and you tilt your head up to face him. You can’t believe that this moron is getting you out of your own sticky situation. Luck must be on your side. Your lips quirk up into a flirty smile.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

You tuck your hair behind your ears and brush it to your back in attempt to cool yourself down a bit. Years of renovations and he didn’t have the money to put in some A/C? The heat coming from all the other people in the club makes you light-headed. Or maybe it’s the alcohol. Probably both. You look around again, just to make sure that everything is under control. Marko’s bodyguards slowly start making their way towards you. They probably won’t let Marko go with some random girl, always keeping a close eye on their boss. That’s fine by you. Three birds with one stone, job done.

Or so you thought.

As you turn your head, Marko looks back at you, and his eyes instantly narrow from seeing the earpiece you’ve been wearing. He’s not going to second-guess himself because he knows exactly what they look like, big and small. He stops walking, making you bump into him. You stumble a bit, but his now iron-tight grip keeps you from falling over. You look up at him in question.

“Marko? What’s–“

A second later, he has you turned around, with what you can only guess is a gun shoved against your back. You sober up as your heart beats a mile a minute in your chest. You feel like it could burst through your ribcage right now. You thought you were scared when you thought an intruder was in the compound when Bucky and Sam destroyed the electrical panel. This doesn’t even compare. The lives of you, and everyone else are at stake now. And all because of one clumsy move.

“Here’s how it’s going to go,” he whispers in your ear, pressing the gun hardly against you. No one else in the room seems to realize that Marko has pressed a gun against your back. They’re all too wrapped up in their own drunken stupors to notice your distress. Tremors course through your hands, and you can’t control how fast your throat is closing up.

“We’re going to take a little walk,” he continues, now making his way to his bodyguards. “And you’re not going to make a scene. You’re not going to call for help, and you’re not going to try and contact any of your other friends. Got it?”

You can’t speak; you can only nod. No matter what, you cannot let a single person get injured, or god forbid, killed, because of you being naïve and thoughtless. However, you cannot let yourself be captured so easily. You have to prove yourself that you are capable of thinking and acting on your own. Now would be the time to do it.

Forcing yourself to take deep breaths, you analyze the situation. The bodyguards don’t seem to be carrying guns. Though, they could be concealed under their jackets. Your lighter is tucked away in your chest, but you’d have to disarm Marko before dealing with his beef squad. Everything would be much easier if you had one more person with you. If only Phil was smart enough to bring another person inside so you wouldn’t be alone. You hear a click, and Marko comes to a stop. You can only guess that he’s ready to pull the trigger, and you shut your eyes tightly, ready to feel the blow in your back.

“Stand down or I’ll spill your brains.”

Your eyes shoot open at the new voice. You hesitantly look over your shoulder, and see a woman a few years older than you standing behind Marko.

_Is she–?_

She nods at you, which can only mean she’s on your side. You can’t sigh a breath of relief yet, since the situation can still go south. And you’d do anything to avoid a catastrophe on your first solo mission.

_Let’s see. Three on two. She has a gun, and I have my lighter. These two puff pastries probably rely on their brute strength to keep Marko safe. I could take on those two, maybe while the other agent deals with Marko. But these people need to get out of here to avoid a gunfight. But I’m sure once they see what’s about to go down, they’ll find their way out. Fast, I hope. Think, _______. Think._

Shit.

_I better not regret this._

There’s no time to second guess yourself. Seeing as Marko’s not holding on to you, you make your right hand into a fist and quickly elbow him in the neck (though you were aiming for his face). He stumbles to his left, but he doesn’t let go of his gun. He takes aim at you as you rush towards his bodyguards, but the other agent grabs hold of his wrist and points it upwards and makes him shoot the ceiling. The instant it fires, people are screaming and scrambling to get out of the club. The undercover agent wants to leave with the rest of the clubbers to secure their safety, but given the situation, it may not be necessary.

She elbows him in the ribs and chops his neck before kicking his feet out from under him. He falls to the floor, but it doesn’t end there. He’s had years upon years of training. He knows how to get himself out of a sticky situation.

Meanwhile, you’re up against two tank engines. You avoid using your lighter unless completely necessary. If you can’t subdue them by yourself, then you’ll rely on your power to get you out of this mess. The weak points are easy to go for, like the groin and face, but your personal favourite is punching people in the neck. And it’d work out perfectly if they weren’t so goddamn tall. Your defence training with Natasha has been sufficient, all things considered, so you might as well put it to the test.

You have no choice but to take down two people at once, as hard and fast as you can. You try giving him a right hook, but he easily stops it by grasping your fist. You grunt and do not hesitate to smash the end of your heel into his foot. Then comes the kick to the groin, and two knees to the face when he bends over. He groans in pain before you give the strongest kick you can muster to the side of his neck. He goes tumbling down the wall, giving you a single second to breathe before the second guard wraps his arm around your neck and starts squeezing.

_Leverage._

You move your left leg back behind his right foot, making your hips behind his. You then open your left arm across his chest and use all the strength you can to force him backwards. He’s a big guy, but even big guys have weaknesses. You kick his Achilles’ tendon to make sure he goes down to the floor. He manages to keep a grip on you, and you go down with him; but that only gives you the chance to elbow him in the throat. Hard. While he strangles for breath, the first guard you took down pulls a gun attached to his ankle.

_Line of fire._

You scramble off the ground, adrenaline coursing through you, and charge at him. You duck your head down and raise both your hands up, grabbing onto his wrists, and kick him in the groin again. His grip lessens on the gun and you tear it away from his hands. He tumbles backwards again and you point the gun at him.

“Don’t move! Stay where you are!” You look behind you at the ground, and see the second guard still struggling to catch his breath. You back up to get both of them in your line of sight, moving the gun left and right, finger hovering over the trigger in case they try something. You hear a yell from your left, and turn your attention there instead. Before you have time to process what happened, another gunshot goes off, and you feel a sting in your thigh. The force sends you to the floor, and you end up laying on your side, the gun flying from your hands. The adrenaline keeps the pain to a 5, on a scale from one to ten. You look up, and see Marko pointing his gun at the other agent on the floor.

_Goddammit._

While they both look worse for wear, Marko got the better end of the beatings. There’s blood splattered along his forehead and cheek, and at least three good cuts on his arms. The agent, however, just has a bruise forming under her eye socket.

_Men are pathetic._

Marko breathes hardly as he looks back at you with a careless expression. The gun is too far for you to grab; he would kill you before you fully outstretched your hand. So you stay where you are, and focus on breathing. Bullet wounds are a major punch to the tits.

“This was fun,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “But I still got business with the black market and international sellers. People would pay big bucks for an arm or a leg of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. But I prefer them alive and fresh. Makes for a better show.”

He pulls back the hammer on his semi-automatic, and keeps his gun trained on the agent. The agent has no line of defence; her only chance is you, or Phil, if he has the heart to come in and do something about this. He hasn’t said anything in a while. Not that it matters. It’s best not to have a distraction while you’re trying to save the life of yourself and another. Just to be sure, you take the earpiece out and toss it away. You try standing up, but your body is so shaky that you fall back to the ground. Marko looks back at you again as you try to push yourself off the floor. He laughs.

“You almost had me fooled,” he says, kneeling in front of you. He waves the gun around along with his hand movements as he speaks. “Do you know how many women have come up to me, batting their lashes and spreading their legs to get my attention? And because I’m the big man, you must think that I’m into that sort of thing. But you know what? It’s annoying as fuck. Same old game, same type of woman. But you.  _You_. You seemed authentic and natural. A shy little girl trying to attract the alpha male in the room. Your game was so weak, I felt bad for you. So I came over, had a few drinks, and dealt with it.” He reaches forward and grabs your chin when you look away from him. “You had such a baby doll face that I couldn’t resist myself.”

That comment earns him a nasty glare. He raises a brow in amusement.

“Oh? Did I hit a nerve?”

“Don’t fucking call me that, scarface,” you spit.

He “hmph”’s and lets go of your chin. His eyes travel down, and he smirks. “What do we have here?” He extends his hand down the front of your dress; when you struggle, he points the gun at your head. “Don’t fucking move.” You comply and let him take the lighter out of your chest. He inspects it before standing back up and pacing the room. You grip your thigh in pain, but you power through it. You can’t slip unconscious just yet. Not until these bastards are dead or captured, and the agent is safe.

“Going through all that trouble to conceal a lighter? Must be special. What. Your daddy give this to you as a parting gift?”

“Go to hell,” you snarl, wincing from moving your leg. You look at it. Just the sight of it almost makes you throw up. You turn your head away and pay attention to Marko.

_Go on. Open it. I dare you._

He twists and turns the lighter in his hand, wondering why you would hide such a thing. If he’s stupid enough to open it and pull down on the lever, then you won’t hesitate to take your chance. You’ll add a few more scars to the one he already had.

“Planning to blow up the place?” he muses aloud. He shakes his head and laughs without humour. “How naïve. I expect no less from a little girl.”

You shrug. “Gotta keep all the options open.”

You’re getting more and more dizzy. You’re never to drink again on a mission. If you live through this one, that is. Marko flicks the lid open, then closes it. Then opens it again, then closes it. He does this a few more times, and you’re getting tired of him not doing what you want.

_Come ooon. Just do it. Light a flame._

“You know,” he starts, opening the lid again. “I could go for a smoke right now.” He lights a flame. “I qu–“

The moment you hear the familiar flick of the lever, you take control of the flame, increasing its size and temperature, and blow it up right in Marko’s face. You engulf the right side of his face and forearm. His gun and your lighter fall to the floor as he screams in agonizing pain. The agent takes this chance to grab his gun and point it at him as you extinguish the flames. Marko is on his knees, grunting and yelling in pain. He looks up at you and squints.

“What the fuck are you?”

You bend down and grab your lighter. You flip it open and make another flame, then surround it around his bodyguards. You spit at the floor and look him in the eyes.

“Hellfire.”

You help the agent stand while keeping the fire going. She keeps the gun on Marko as she presses her fingers against her ear.

“Sir? The situation is handled. Send them in.”

Neither of you lower your guards as agents come pouring in the club to arrest Marko and his goon squad; only then do you douse your flames again. Your legs shake, but you keep yourself upright. No need to embarrass yourself. Even if there is a bullet wedged in your thigh.

“That was exceptional work, _______,” the agent says, clapping a hand on your back. “You kept calm, read the situation, and acted accordingly. Not bad for a newbie.”

“Tha-Thanks,” you pant, pressing your hands on your thighs. You curse when the adrenaline starts to wear off and you can feel the real pain from the bullet start to course through you. You stand back up again when however, when you see Phil walk through the door, and Marko getting escorted out in handcuffs.

“Good work, _______, agent Knox,” he says, his hands tucked behind his back. You blow the hair away from your face and shake your head in disbelief.

“You couldn’t have told me that I wasn’t alone in there?” you ask, anger lacing your tone.

“I wanted to see what you were capable of without any outside help,” he explains. “Working as a team is admirable and truly effective, but an individual must have their own strengths. I wanted to draw out your potential. You managed to take down two two-hundred-pound men and keep a weapons developer in containment.”

You put your hands on your hips and shake your head again. Sure, it’s true. You managed fine on your own. But without the help of agent Knox, then you probably would’ve been injured further, or even killed. There are the pros and cons, but you’re just happy that you’re alive.

“I guess,” you finally answer. “But I got shot in the leg.”

“We’ll take care of that.”

“Good. ‘Cause I feel like I’m gonna pass out. And throw up.”

Two paramedics come to your side as you step into the cool night air. You immediately wrap your arms around their shoulders, and limp with them over to a different black van that has medical equipment inside. They’re about to hook you up to an IV when you remember something crucial.

“Wait!” you yell. “Coulson needs to take my back to the compound.” Phil looks over his shoulder when he hears his name called. He watches you argue with the paramedics.

“We can’t do that, miss,” one paramedic argues. “You’ve lost too much blood and we need to get you to–“

“Just give me some damn morphine and let Coulson take me back,” you demand, not in the mood to fight. “There’s doctors and surgeons back at the compound.” When neither of them do what you asked, you glare at them. “Do it. Now.” They reluctantly comply when Phil nods at them. You’re given a powerful dose of morphine for the pain, and they securely wrap white bandages around your thigh before letting you go. You wobble over to Phil, and blink a few times to make sure it’s him.

“LLLLeeeeet’ssss gooooo,” you slur, the morphine taking instant effect. “Weeee got a pit stop to make.” You laugh as you look at his shiny head, before stumbling over to the passenger’s side and hop in the seat. Phil sighs through his nose, knowing he’ll have a hell of a car ride. He has two of his agents drive your car back home, while he takes you to your desired destination.

* * *

It’s been four hours since you last left the compound. And Sam’s been up and about, waiting for your return. He tried calling you, but you left your phone in the car. Asking F.R.I.D.A.Y. or anyone else for that matter wouldn’t help either. They probably don’t know you’re out doing… whatever it is you were doing. Sam’s about to go out and look for you himself when he hears a commotion from downstairs. He asks F.R.I.D.A.Y. to pull up the feed for the front entrance, and he sees you literally being dragged in by two men in stealth suits. Another man leads them up the path to the doors, but they’re locked. Sam doesn’t need to see anymore. He rushes downstairs.

You try to tell Phil the passcode to get inside, but you can’t stop laughing at nothing and everything to give him a coherent answer. You’re crying from laughter when you see Sam skid to a stop from behind the doors.

“Saaaaaaam!” you cheer happily, letting go of Phil’s men to press yourself against the glass.

“_______?! What’re you doing out there? What happened to you?!”

You look down at yourself. There was no time to change back into your battle suit, so you were stuck with wearing your bloody, tattered cocktail dress. You’ve seen much better days. And so has Sam. You shrug indifferently.

“I got into a fiiiight,” you drawl, smiling stupidly at him. He opens the door and lets you fall against him. He sees the bandage around your thigh, and the blood seeping through it. He looks up at Phil, who is very surprisingly calm.

“She’s correct,” he says before Sam opens his mouth. “Her first solo assignment was a success. Please relay the message to Mr. Stark. I apologize for her return home. She wanted to pick something up first.”

You perk up when Phil says that. Of course! How could you forget? You push yourself off of Sam and let one of the men come forward and hand you something. You face Sam with the items behind your back. You smile widely at him before bringing them forward and presenting them to him.

“You thought I forgot, didn’t you?”

Sam has to huff a laugh. He can’t believe it. Out of everything you’ve been through tonight, and you still manage to think of him.

“My nuggets and drink,” he says quietly. “Goddammit, Spyro.”

He takes them and you happily clap your hands.

“Time to gooooo~ Bye bye Phyllis!” you call behind you as you limp inside. Sam watches you pathetically drag your wounded leg behind you. He turns to Phil, his serious demeanor returning.

“What the hell happened?”

“Complications arose, and we took care of them. The criminal is in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hands now. She has proven herself to be very useful and quick witted. She’ll be just fine on her own.”

He turns around and is about to take his leave when he stops and says one more thing.

“For future reference, don’t tell her no when she wants all the toys,” he says.

Without giving him any other details, Phil leaves without another word. Sam looks down at the McDonald’s in his hands, still in disbelief that you actually got his order while looking like  _that_. He manages to relax for a minute before he’s on high alert again; but only because you start shouting about your return home.

“Choo choo motherfuckers! Guess who’s hooooome!”

You managed to make it to the kitchen, despite the limp in your step. You’re so excited about being home that you want everyone to know. Sam comes running up behind you, and sets his late night dinner on the counter before covering your mouth.

“Quiet, Spyro!” he says. “Now’s not the time for this.”

You lick his palm to get him to uncover your mouth. He pulls away and wipes it on his shirt while you continue your own welcome home party.

“Steviiiiie! Wandooooo! Tonyyyyyy! Everyooooone! Come say hiiiiii! I feel lonely here with just Sammyyyyyy!”

Sam holds his face and shakes his head at your antics. This is not going to be pretty. Steve appears first, and he immediately shakes off his drowsiness when he sees the state you’re in. He rushes forward and looks from Sam to you.

“_______? What happened? Are you okay?”

“Awwww Steviiiiie. I’m okayyyy~ Look! I got shot in the leg!”

You pull up the bottom of your dress to reveal the bloodied bandage. You give Steve a dopey smile as he stares at you in concern and anger. You lean against the counter and nod your head repeatedly as he tries to gather his thoughts together.

“What happened to her?” he questions Sam.

“Look, I know about as much as you do,” Sam replies. “All I know is that she was in a fight and got shot in the leg. Nothing else.”

“How could this even  _happen_?” Steve says aloud. He glances at you, but you’re too preoccupied with bouncing your head and swaying your shoulders to answer him. He sighs and shakes his head.

“It doesn’t matter right now. She needs to g–“

“The hell is this?”

Your head whips around when you hear the familiar tone of snark.

“Tooooonaaaayyyyy,” you say, swinging around to face him. “So kind of you to j-join u-us.” You start laughing again at the incredulous expression he’s wearing. Wanda, Vision, and Natasha emerge from their hiding places to see what’s going on so late at night. A whole flurry of conversations and emotions erupt before you, but everything sounds like white noise. You can’t understand what anyone is saying. All you can see are some pretty furious expressions. You stumble around a bit, making your way across to the living room. But a curious eye catches your attention.

Bucky is silently watching from behind the wall, arms crossed and brows furrowed. You make the same expression and stare at him. He doesn’t notice you’re looking until he glances to his right. You sputter a laugh when his face drastically changes from fuming to trepidation. He stands up straighter and uncrosses his arms as he gives you a once-over. You wave at him, but he can’t even raise a finger, let alone speak. He’s so shell-shocked that you look like this right now. Tattered, dirty, and  _wounded_. He never thought he’d see you like this, and quite frankly, he’s outraged to see you in such a state.

“Y-You need to t-turn that f-frown upside d-down, mister,” you giggle, lazing your way over to him. “Frowns a-are not a-allowed. Y-You… y-you gotta… pffffffttttt!” You can’t even take him seriously. His usual gruff and grumpy behaviour seems a thousand times funnier to you right now. You point a shaky finger at him as you close the distance.

“Y-You got me outta t-that shitshow t-tonight, Mr. B-Barnes,” you continue. “So thank you f-for that. Y-You’re t–“

Before you have time to finish your sentence, you fall unconscious and land in Bucky’s arms. The morphine has taken its hold on you, so you won’t be waking up any time soon. He holds you carefully and delicately, moving the hair away from your face. You’re still breathing, which is good. But that bullet in your leg is not.

“Hey!” he shouts, gathering everyone’s attention. “She needs medical attention  _now_.”

Bucky’s tone immediately grasps the likes of Tony; he stops his spat with Steve to get things rolling. He calls out to F.R.I.D.A.Y., telling the doctors and surgeons to be ready by the time he gets down there. He orders Bucky to follow him to the med lab, and he obeys. Everyone else follows close behind, worried out of their minds. Some more than others.

Bucky places you on the bed when he reaches the lab, and is then ushered out of the room. He stands behind the glass like the rest of the team, and watches on, hoping for your surgery and recovery to go well.


	11. Recovery

The first thing you realize when you wake up is that you have dry mouth. And one hell of a headache.

You painfully stretch your legs and shut your eyes even tighter as you shift in your bed. You can hear the beeping of hospital equipment, and a light muffling sound. It’s too bright behind your eyes to open them, but you know you’ll have to. You shield your eyes with your palm, and blink several times to clear the sleep and crust from your eyes. You groan loudly in the back of your throat, changing your position to sit up a bit.

Your entire body feels like lead. You’ve never felt this drowsy and exhausted in your whole life. Working for eight hours plus a two-hour workout plus an unintentional all-nighter doesn’t even come close to this. This is on a whole other level of fatigue.

When you gain control of your sight, you look around, and see multiple people in white lab coats coasting around. You can’t tell which ones are doctors, nurses, or surgeons. They all just kind of mix together. You still feel kind of dizzy, so nothing is blending well together at the moment. Your ears feel stuffed, so you plug your nose and pop them. A doctor notices you’re awake, and makes his way over to you.

“Welcome back, _______,” he says, sitting down next to your bed. “I’m glad to see you awake.”

“Y-Yeah,” you reply, your voice raspy. You clear your throat and swallow, but it still doesn’t feel right. You scrunch your nose in discomfort. You delicately touch your face, and feel a tube going up your nose.

_Is this a feeding tube?_

He flips through the chart he has in his hands. You’re just remembering now that you got shot in the leg. You pull the covers back to inspect it while the doctor speaks.

“The wound was surprisingly clean. There was no exit wound, so we needed to perform surgery to remove the bullet. You lost about two pints of blood. You required a blood transfusion, which happened to end two days ago. You also needed a feeding tube and an IV to keep you alive. Seven days without food and water can be pretty dangerous. We’re going to remove it soon, since you’re awake, but your IV shall remain there until I say otherwise.”

You nod in understanding. But, really? You need a feeding tube? It makes sense, but it doesn’t mean you like it. It’s uncomfortable as ever, and what happens when you sneeze? It’s taped to your nose, but will it blow out still? How far up your nose is it? The doctor continues on as you have a small moment of dissatisfaction.

“I got the full report of your situation from a… Miss Knox. She mentioned that you had alcohol in your system before morphine was administrated to you.” He pauses to give you a look. You don’t even notice. Your bandages are more intriguing. He continues on. “Morphine and alcohol are a dangerous mix. You experienced dehydration, an irregular heart rate, and blood pressure changes. You could have fallen into a coma, stopped breathing, and died. Do you understand, miss _______?”

You stop inspecting your injury and silently complaining to yourself when the doctor says that. You look over at him, a range of emotions crossing your features. You could have  _died_? You know one thing for sure now: you’re never drinking again on a mission. Or, at all. If it comes to that. You look down at the mattress and nod. He notices your change in expression. He sighs and sets his clipboard down.

“I do not mean to worry you, miss _______,” he says. “You could not have known. It is not your fault. But I am obligated to tell you the truth. And truth is, if you didn’t get here when you did, you could’ve died. When you were brought to us, you were already unconscious. I feared that you had already slipped past the point of bringing you back. I will skip the medical jargon and break it down for you. Before your surgery, I managed to stabilize you. The side effects of the morphine and alcohol were taking too much a toll on your body, and I was afraid of what might happen in the case that I treated your gunshot wound first.”

“Death?” you guess aloud, shifting in your bed again. You’re feeling all sorts of aches and pains in your lower back now. A small price to pay in order to recover.

“Yes,” he affirms. “My team also stopped the bleeding long enough for me to do my work. It’s a hell of a process to go through, making sure your patient doesn’t go into a coma or die. But you did neither, which I am eternally grateful for. It’s very assuring to see you awake and moving around. But you won’t be doing much of that for a while, I’m afraid.”

“Am I paralyzed?!” you say out of shock, clutching the sheets.

“Oh no no no,” the doctor reassures you. “You still have mobility. I’m saying that you will need a pair of crutches for some time before you regain your strength to walk on your own again.”

“Oh.”

Walking around by the likes of  _crutches_? Of all things? Can’t they just give you a wheelchair or something? Crutches are hard on the armpits and a bitch to deal with. You would know. Breaking your ankle back in grade seven wasn’t the most pleasant experience. And now you’ll have to relive it all over again. But he said the IV will need to stay in you until he says otherwise. Does that mean you’ll have to drag it around with you while you’re trying to walk? Or maybe he means it’ll stay there long enough for you to recover somewhat and  _then_  you’ll be using crutches. Whatever he means, it sounds awful.

“Perfect,” you say indignantly.

“You will also take part in rehabilitation sessions to improve your mobility. A few weeks until you’re able to walk on your own and the wound has fully healed.”

 _Double perfect_.

All of this, just because of a bullet wound. And morphine and alcohol, apparently. You yawn widely and scratch at your eyes. You can’t tell if you have a headache, or if it’s a hangover. Or if it’s from the morphine and whatever else kind of sedatives they gave to you. Which ever way, you just know that you’re tired and annoyed.

“Anything else I need to know?”

“Because you were unconscious for seven days, your body is going to need time to heal. I would like to keep you here for a few more nights to keep an eye on your well-being. Your bandages will need to be changed on a daily basis to avoid infection. My staff shall take care of that until I give you the go-ahead to change them on your own. And when you do, I shall provide you with instructions on how to properly apply a new dressing. Do not rush–I repeat– _do not_ rush yourself. Recovery takes time, so you will remain here at the compound until further notice. I will prescribe you some medication for the pain when you’re out of that bed.”

“Awesome,” you say sarcastically. “That it?”

“Mr. Stark asked me to inform him when you woke up. He shall be here momentarily.”

“Oh goody.”

This isn’t going to be pretty. You didn’t tell Tony, nor any of the team that you went on a mission. Sam is the one that received that crucial piece of information first. Then everyone came out and started arguing about it. All you remember is acting like an idiot while everyone had their moment of craze. You mentally prepare yourself for Tony’s scolding. He can be on-point with his reasons sometimes, and it pisses you off when he’s right. He’s one of the most hot-headed, rude, antagonizing people you’ve ever met. But you also know that he’s a person that always tries to right his wrongs. And it’s hard to hate him when he’s like that.

It’s no surprise when you can see him walking down the stairs; the whole med lab is made up of glass walls and doors. You can’t tell what kind of mood he’s in. He’s wearing one of those neutral expressions that makes it seem like he’s mad.

_Oh yeah. Resting bitch face._

His eyes are on you the whole time, never breaking eye contact. He crosses his arms as he stands at the foot of your bed. You back up a little in your bed, slightly worried that he’s just going to explode and let you have it. Your eyes trained downwards, he finally speaks.

“How ya feeling?”

Whoa. You were not expecting sentiment.

You peek at up him. He’s completely serious, though his expression has softened. A little. You shrug and face him fully.

“Can’t complain, I guess,” you answer. “I’m alive and awake.”

“But how are you  _feeling_?”

_Does he mean it as in how am I feeling about myself going out alone to a solo mission without telling anyone? Does he want me to tell him how happy or angry I am with myself about the whole thing? Or does he actually want to know how I’m feeling right now?_

You take the safest route.

“Okay,” you reply.

“Good. Because starting today, you’re on house arrest,” he says, pointing a finger at you.

“Oh, come on, Tony,” you whine, rolling your eyes.

“What were you thinking, taking that mission on alone?”

“Mr. Stark,” the doctor starts calmly, already knowing where this is going. “I would prefer it if miss _______ not be put under any unnecessary stress until she’s fully recovered.”

Tony acts like he didn’t hear him and keeps going. The doctor decides to leave the room until you and Tony have cooled down.

“But I wasn’t alone! I was–“

“But you thought you were alone, didn’t you? He sent you in there, alone, and didn’t do a damn thing until the very last second. You could’ve died in there, _______. Do you get that?”

“Yes, in fact, I do!” you yell. “Firstly, it’s a  _solo_  mission for a reason. Secondly, I know I could’ve died! I knew the risks! I know I could’ve gotten my back blown out and been paralyzed or killed if that other agent hadn’t stepped in and done something! I know, Tony. I know. But you know what? I’m here. I did all I could do. I thought out all the possible courses of action to take at the time. I thought of the people in the club. I knew it would kill me if one of them got injured or caught in the crossfire. I acted on my own, and did the best I could to keep myself from getting murdered, along with agent Knox. And it turned out okay! I’m fine, agent Knox is fine, and we arrested a couple of criminals to boot! So don’t talk down to me like what I did was the most horrible thing in the world!”

Your chest is heaving after letting your anger pour out from you. Letting Tony be on the receiving end of your fury only satisfies you somewhat this time. Your headache is a major bitch, and yelling doesn’t help it at all. You sigh and run a hand through your hair. The side effects of the morphine have worn off, but they’re still hanging on by a thread. You’re sweating more than you should, and you feel your mouth go dry again. The pounding dizziness in your skull is the most irritating, and you wish you could just go to sleep again. But you need to reassure Tony that everything is okay.

Breathing through the pain, you raise your head and look tiredly at him.

“I’m fine, Tony,” you say gently. “Can you not just be happy about that and worry about the collateral damage later?”

You know you’re right. You just hope Tony agrees too. He likes to put the details out in the open, and keep them there, open for discussion at any given time. He’ll subtly–and annoyingly–remind you about your blunders and past mistakes to scramble your way out of making a similar decision to the former ones you’ve made.

For his sake, he better not do it this time.

His shoves his hands in his raggedy jeans and looks at the floor, then back to you.

“All right, fine,” he agrees. “I’ll let it go this time. But the next time that this happens, don’t expect me to sugarcoat things and laugh along to your story and make memes out of it. Yes, I know what memes are. You’re talking to the leading innovator in technology, here. Come on.”

That makes you smile more. Hearing him joke about things that are actually funny makes you feel better about everything. It doesn’t stop the physical pain, but it warms your heart. Tony Stark. Big guy in a suit of armour. Annoying, snarky, and witty, but still caring and compassionate. Truly a two-faced bitch.

“Cap and the others visited you during your unexpected trip to the land of the unconscious,” he adds, pulling up a stool. “Day in and day out. Checking to see if you’ve moved a finger or if you’ve had a leg jerk. Wince, groan, cough. Anything to indicate that you were still alive without relying on the beeping of the machines.”

“Oh,” you say. You expected that to some degree, but Tony’s making it sound like it was a life-or-death situation for the team if you didn’t pull through. “I hope I didn’t worry them too much…”

“Worry?” Tony repeats, smiling slightly and shaking his head. “Listen here, Hell’s angel. Rogers held a full conversation with you as if you were answering him. Wilson even joined in at some parts. Wanda and Nat would tell you about their day. Vision would… come to think of it, I don’t really know what Vision did. He just stared. But like, into you, y’know? Anyway. And Barnes just sat with you. Stared a lot too, like Vision. So I’d say ‘worry’ is an understatement.”

“You forgot something,” you mention.

“What’s that?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. What’d you do? No offence, but you don’t seem like a person to bring me tea when I’m sick or sit down and talk to my unconscious body.”

“What gives you that idea?”

“So you are.”

“Are what?”

“The kind of person to sit down and talk to my unconscious body.”

“You got it all wrong. See–“

“It’s not a hard question, Tony.”

“There is no question, _______.”

“Yes there is.”

“Then what is it?”

“Did you, or did you not, do something in similar fashion like talk to my unconscious body?”

“Fine, alright! Yes! I did! Happy now, you zombie?”

At the end of your bickering with him, you nod in satisfaction.

“I am,” you confirm. “I know it may not matter to you, but thanks. I hate worrying people, but I appreciate you and everyone else watching over me.”

Tony folds his hands over the end of your bed and nods, muttering a small “yep”. You smile more. Another thought comes to mind.

“Speaking of which,” you say, twisting the sheets between your fingers. “How mad was everyone?”

Tony taps his thumbs together as he thinks out-loud.

“Ummmmm. You ever see Banner go berserk?”

“N-Not in person no…”

“Rogers was about this close to going on a manhunt with the wrath close to that of Banner in his green rage monster mode.”

“Yikes…”

“’Yikes’ is right, kid.”

He gets out of his stool and starts pacing the room.

“Everyone had their own moments of anguish over this, but he’s the only one that almost got physical about it. Hearing that you might fall into a coma and die isn’t exactly what someone wants to hear at one in the morning. It could potentially trigger deep-seeded emotions. Barnes on the other hand… he was the complete opposite. Distant. Kept to himself. Didn’t know what to think or do. Like it was his first time seeing a person with a gunshot wound. But who knows what goes through his head.”

“You don’t say.”

The thought of Bucky being ambivalent about his feelings makes you a little sad. Tony’s right; who knows what he’s feeling? But it’s nice to hear that he was worried. Everyone else too of course, but… him especially. What a bias you’ve created.

You sigh and lay back against the bed, and hiss when you can feel the prick of your bullet wound. You lift up the blankets again, and delicately run your hand along the gauze. This is going to be a pain to take care of.

“Stings, doesn’t it?”

“No doubt. It didn’t hurt at the time because I was high on adrenaline, but damn. This sucks.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, opening a desk drawer and pulling out some peanuts. “I’m sure the team will be more than willing to carry you up and down the stairs.” He tears open the package and pops a few in his mouth. He holds some out for you, but you turn them down. Food isn’t on your mind at the moment. It’s sleep. You yawn again and cover your mouth. You lay back down comfortably and pull the sheets over your chest.

“Get some rest, kid,” Tony says as he backs out the door. “You’re gonna need it for when Cap sees you.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

Tony travels back upstairs to let the rest of the team know that you’re awake and well, but going back to sleep. You know it’ll piss some of them off, Steve especially, but you’re exhausted still and need some  _real_  sleep. Being under doesn’t necessarily mean you’re asleep. So now, you’re going to take control of your own conscious, and fall asleep on your own accord. You wave to Tony when he reaches the middle of the stairs, and close your eyes, hoping that when you wake up, you’ll feel that much better.

* * *

The next time you wake up is four hours later, about midday. It was a terrible feat trying to fall asleep with all the bright lights on, but sometime during your sleep, someone was gracious enough to dim them for you. Truly, a kind soul.

You feel better, only in the slightest. Your headache has slowed to a dull thud in your head, and you don’t have dry mouth. A few positives to start your day. You’re alone, you notice. All the medical staff must be taking a break. That’s not too bad. Gives you a minute to relax without anyone asking you the same questions over and over.

You stretch your arms above your head and yawn, then scratch around your hand where the IV tube is. Despite its job to give you nutrients and sugars, it’s not the most comfortable thing to be piercing your hand. And apparently, your stomach isn’t very comfortable either.

It growls loudly, disappointed that it has nothing to digest. You sigh sadly, wondering if you’re allowed to have solid foods yet. Or even liquid-y solids, like pudding and ice cream. The doctor said that you had been unconscious for a week, and needed a blood transfusion and an IV drip. That would certainly do the trick to make you hungry as hell. The feeding tube is still in you, so you have no idea who to call to take it out.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” you call out weakly.

“It is good to hear your voice, miss _______,” the A.I. says.

“Yeah, me too.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Can you call one of the doctor’s back?”

“Certainly.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice rings overhead, delivering the message, and you wait for the doctor to come back. Considering your circumstances, he should be here on the double. But since you’re doing well, he may take his time. You fiddle around with the many tubes protruding your body in the meantime, and also think about all the therapy you’ll have to endure. Within a few minutes, your doctor returns with a smile on his face.

“Miss _______,” he greets you as he enters the room.

“Doctorrr… Markson,” you greet back after squinting at his nametag. He takes a seat beside you and folds his hands together.

“How are you feeling? Better?” he asks.

“More or less,” you say, giving a non-committal wave of your hand. “I was just wondering if you can take the feeding tube out yet? I know you mentioned removing it earlier, but I just wanted to know when.”

He looks at the time on his watch, then flips through a few papers from your charts. He nods his head at what he reads and looks at you.

“I believe it would be alright to remove it,” he says, making you smile. “Hopefully the IV will only stay in until tomorrow. After I remove the tube, I shall bring you something sufficient to eat.”

“That’d be great.”

He sets the charts back down and washes his hands, while you sit up and bend your good leg. You can still move your wounded leg, but the best you’re going to do right now is wiggle your toes and bend your knee little by little so your thigh doesn’t feel that much pressure. As Dr. Markson dries his hands and puts on his gloves, you can see and hear Steve running down the stairs, followed by Wanda and Natasha.

_Here we go._

You muster a smile for them, because you’re genuinely happy to see them. Steve has concern written all over his face; and he has a right to be. He didn’t get to see you when you first woke up, and was a little peeved that Tony was first in line. But now, he pushes that all aside because he’s so relieved that you’re okay.

“Heyyy guyyyyys,” you say as they walk in.

“_______,” Steve says, speaking before anyone else. “How are you feeling? Are you alright?”

“I’m okay, Steve,” you reply truthfully. “Maybe a little off-balance still, but otherwise, I’m doing pretty good.”

He smiles that dad smile that warms your heart. You can never be mad at Steve when he throws his charm in the mix. He’s just too soft and selfless to be angry at.

“Does it hurt?” Wanda asks, crossing her arms and looking at the floor.

_How are you so adorable?_

“Not as much as it did before,” you smile sweetly. “The painkillers are taking care of that.” Wanda nods and smiles back quickly before letting her expression drop again. She’s content that you’re conscious and seem to be doing fine, but it really took a toll on her when she saw how still you looked on your bed. You were the closest thing she had to another sibling, and she’d be damned if she lost you too.

“That was quite the show you put on,” Natasha quips, taking a seat in a corner of the room. “For not using a gun, it was remarkable you got out of there alive.”

“You saw?” you question. “How?”

“Coulson had surveillance for the duration of your mission,” she explains. “He deemed it as an instructional video to examine your mistakes.”

_Goddamn that Coulson._

“I see,” you say, irritated. “I probably should’ve expected that, with him being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and all. So secretive and conniving.”

She nods in agreement and leans forward in her chair, elbows resting on her knees.

“It’s good to see you again, _______,” she says.

“Likewise.”

“Excuse me.”

Everyone’s attention is drawn to Dr. Markson. He snaps his gloves on and stands beside your bed.

“I am about to remove _______’s feeding tube,” he explains. “I would advise you step away to give her some room.”

Wanda and Steve nod, backing away against the wall to give you some space. You sit up more and face Dr. Markson as he prepares to take it out.

“I will warn you now to be prepared for gagging, coughing, and overall general nasal discomfort as I remove the tube,” he says.

“Awesome,” you say with a nod.

He gives you a protective pad, and you stuff it in the front of your gown. He unpins the tube from your gown, and loosens the tape securing the tube to your nose. You raise your hand and give the top of your nose a little scratch, the tape itching your skin. He then turns off the suction, and disconnects the tube from the syringe. He pinches the tube near your nostril, and tells you to relax as he pulls it out. You close your eyes as he does, not wanting to see a four-foot tube come out of your nose. You wince as it all comes out, and gag a bit when you can feel it hit your throat. You stick your tongue out in disgust, and cough a bit to rid yourself of the remaining taste. Nat, Wanda, and Steve smile in amusement.

“Well that wasn’t nasty at all,” you comment as Dr. Markson cleans the end of your nose. He disposes the tube, removes his gloves, and washes his hands again. You get used to having a clear nose, and repeatedly rub the end of it to try to settle it back to normal.

“The irritation will wear off well within a few minutes,” Dr. Markson assures you. “Your nasal cavity should feel fine after that.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, now tapping the side of your nose to get rid of the feeling that the tube is still in there. For now, you breathe in and out evenly, trusting your body to get rid of the leftover irritation.

“I’ll go bring you your food now,” Dr. Markson says.

“Okay.”

He leaves the room to go to the cafeteria, leaving you under the watchful eye that is Steve Rogers. Natasha and Wanda have already settled down, and are just grateful that you’re still there with them. Steve, however, gives you a stern look.

“Why would you do that, _______?” he asks. Straight to the point. Might as well lay it out in the open again.

“Because I wanted to,” you sigh, getting sick of repeating yourself. “I got offered a solo assignment and I took it because I wanted it. I knew the risks involved and I was successful in taking down multiple criminals in the process. The civilians got out unharmed, as well did agent Knox, along with myself. Yes, I was shot in the leg, but I’m fine now, Steve. And I don’t wanna keep repeating myself a thousand times. I already got read the riot act by Tony.”

Steve sighs and wipes his hands down his face. Leaning against the glass, he gives you an amused look and crosses his arms. Even he can’t be mad at you.

“Look, _______,” he starts. You know this is the beginning of a lecture. “I admire you for wanting to go out on your own and do missions by yourself. But next time, let us know, okay? That way we won’t have a row when you come home bloody and unconscious.”

“I will,” you agree. “But you better not think about stopping me if I want to go. No matter how dangerous it is, I’ll make the decision myself if I want to go or not. Missions from S.H.I.E.L.D. seem shoddy enough with everything they didn’t tell me, so I’m keeping my eye out for that.”

“That’s a girl,” Steve smiles. Just then, Dr. Markson arrives with a tray of typical hospital food for you: jello, milk, and pudding. You raise a brow, but otherwise say nothing. It’s simple enough to eat after having the feeding tube removed. And you’d like to keep it that way.

“We’ll work our way up until you can eat larger portions,” Dr. Markson says as he notices your reaction. “For now, you’ll be eating puréed foods and small meals until further notice. In your case, it shouldn’t last for more than two days.”

“Fantastic,” you retort, picking up your spoon. You decide to eat the pudding first. The jello has more taste to it, plus it’s fun to eat. You’d prefer water over milk, but getting protein is important too. You wiggle your feet as you eat, smiling widely as you get to eat something  _real_  since your little accident. Your small moment of peace is only slightly ruined when you see Sam coming down the stairs. You swallow what you chewed and shamefully look down at the bed as he walks in.

He’s a mix of disappointment and relief. He can’t believe everything that transpired within a week since your return home. He’s glad, of course, that you made it out alright. But he’s going to lecture to you too before he gets to that.

“I can’t believe you lied to me,” he says, shaking his head at you. “A late night fast food run doesn’t take four hours, _______. Then you don’t bother to tell me anything between the time that your mission was finished and the drive back to the compound. Not one phone call telling me that hey, you got shot in the leg and need the surgeons to be ready, or that the mission was for S.H.I.E.L.D.? You really scared me.” He grips the foot of your bed and heaves a sigh through his nose.

“I didn’t really lie,” you defend quietly. “I got you your food.”

“That’s not the point, _______,” he snaps back. “You lied to me about where you were going. At first I thought I’d go out looking for you when two hours went by. But I thought ‘nah it’s cool she can handle herself’. Meanwhile you’re getting shot in the leg and almost dying.”

Now you feel really guilty. Sam was the one to come find you bloodied and beaten, on the verge of death. It makes sense that he’d be the most guilt-ridden about not going after you when he should have. You stare at your tray of food in humiliation for making him this upset.

“Sam, I’m–“

“However,” he cuts in, raising his head with a toothy grin on his face. “It was pretty awesome to see you give two grown men a well-deserved beating. It was kickass to see you like that, Spyro.”

Your lips quirk up into a smile, and soon you’re giggling from how impressed Sam looks with you.

_This is how it should be._

“I mean, at first I was a little worried while I watched the surveillance video,” he admits, taking a seat in a rolly stool. “I could tell that you hadn’t done a mission before where you had to flirt your way in.”

“Hey!” you laugh.

“What? You’d honestly rather die than play it up with the likes of someone like him.”

“Yeah, I would have. But I did the best I could.”

“The best you c– Listen, Spyro. I got nothin’ against ya, but seeing you try to flirt was about as impressive as a dog standing on its hind legs.”

You cross your arms and pout, but you can’t really make a comeback because he’s right. Your game is so weak; Wanda would probably have done a better job. In fact, she’d probably make it out of there without as so much as a bruise. You shake your head. What’s done is done, and thinking about how everyone else would do it won’t get you anywhere. It’ll only generate envy and contempt towards your teammates. And no one needs that.

Sam keeps talking about how he reacted while he watched the video, and even goes as far as bringing it up on screen to show you. You cover your eyes and shake your head, not wanting to see how badly you embarrassed yourself. But you watch it anyway, with Wanda, Nat, and Steve in the room. Steve manages to get a few laughs in; you do as well, but your heart skips a beat when Vision comes strolling in from the ceiling.

“Vision!” you yell, a hand over your chest.

He stands off to the side once he’s finished his dramatic entrance, giving you a head nod in greeting.

“Miss _______.”

“Vis,” Wanda says. “You gotta stop doing that.”

He looks back at her, then to you, then to everyone else in the room. He recognizes his troublesome habit and addresses it.

“I apologize,” he says. “I was not quite aware of where I would end up.”

“Just… stick to doors, Vision,” you tell him.

“Understood.”

You smile at each other before Sam rewinds the whole video and begins it again. However, one minute into the footage, another guest makes their appearance.

“I look away for two seconds and suddenly there’s a party?”

Your shoulders slump and a playful smile creeps onto your face. The whole atmosphere of the room seems to change from hearty laughter to a teasing exasperation. Steve is always the most expressive when Tony walks into a room. His smile could fall completely, turn serious, or could even throw a few wise cracks around. This time, since everyone is in the med lab solely for you, Steve’s good-natured humour remains, and welcomes Tony in.

“Doesn’t seem fair when you don’t get first glance, does it?”

“Well I already got first glance, first talk, and first lecture. So I beat you there, Cap.”

“Sure did.”

“So what’re we doing?” He turns to the side and sees the footage of your mission. “Oh. This is always a good watch. We starting from the beginning? You sure you know how to work that, Wilson?”

“I got it.”

Sam, once again, starts the video from the very beginning, and everyone settles in to watch it as Dr. Markson observes from afar. They all give their own commentary, along with snarky tips from Tony. You eat your pudding and jello, and almost snort out your milk when someone says something too funny. There’s definitely enough banter to go around, and plenty of embarrassing moments for everyone (Tony) to use against you for shits and giggles. Having everyone here with you is great and all, but there’s still one person missing.

Bucky.

You know you can’t ask where he is out-loud without ruining the mood. And if you do, Wanda might give you another look that makes it seem like she knows something you don’t. And you feel like Steve would give you a similar look; or maybe a soft smile. He’s good at those. For now, you keep your mouth shut and let your friends make fun of you while you silently ponder where he is.

* * *

It’s as if a portal opened up out of nowhere. When Bucky came out of his room from having a nap, everyone had disappeared. The kitchen, living room, training room; they were all empty. he ran his metal hand through his hair and wondered where they would all go. Granted, he didn’t really care; he enjoyed the peace from time to time. But this was just weird. As he keeps wandering around, F.R.I.D.A.Y. takes note of his confusion and enlightens him.

“The team has gathered in medical laboratory, Mr. Barnes,” the A.I. announces. “They are visiting miss _______ as she is awake.” Bucky looks up at the ceiling, and all around, wondering where the hell Tony installed this thing. He taps his fingers on the counter, nodding his head. He pulls the corner of his mouth, wondering if he should go down. If he does, he absolutely knows he’s going to break up the party. The giant elephant in the room, though there’s not even a problem. He’s still new to people actually being nice to him and not trying to blow his brains out or slit his throat.

Biting his bottom lip, he looks down the hallway to the stairs. He’ll go and have a quick look. If it’s too crowded for his liking, or if he feels he’s unwanted, then he’ll go straight back up the stairs and to his room. Without having an argument with himself, he struts down the hallway and finds his way downstairs to the med lab. Having only been there once, he remembers the way. When he reaches the door that leads to the basement, he creeps along the wall, and peeks through the glass window. The only thing he sees are the glass stairs leading down to the laboratory. He grabs the doorknob, and quietly opens the door, listening in.

“No no no. You see. You should’ve torn a part of your dress to wrap around their faces.”

“You honestly think I’d have the time for that, Nat?”

“I’d say you had a sufficient amount of time, since you were dilly dallying around while talking to that guy.”

“Oh give me a  _break_ , Sam. Why don’t you try wearing a dress and try to discreetly rip it while talking to a guy that has a face that looks like someone tossed it in a blender?”

“That’s no excuse.”

“Oh ho ho. I do  _not_  need the sass on that from you, Tony. You gave me enough.”

“She’s right, Tony. What she needs is reform. And flirting lessons.”

“ _Steve_. Honestly.”

“I agree.”

“Not you too, Wanda!”

“I’m sorry, _______. But I’ve seen better flirting from animals biting each other.”

“Now now, everyone. Miss _______ has been through quite enough. She does not need any further insults being directed at her.”

“ _Thank you_ , Vision.”

“However, if I may make one suggestion–“

“You may not!”

Everyone erupts in laughter as your face contorts to a mixture of frustration and amusement. But even you can’t stop laughing. You’re kind of lucky that you got shot in the leg and not the abdomen; otherwise you probably wouldn’t be able to laugh like you are right now.

Bucky’s mouth is in a tight line by the time everybody is laughing. He quietly closes the door and sighs. He knows, he  _knows_  he wouldn’t be able to walk in there without having at least one or two faces fall upon his arrival. And since he’s made the decision to go back upstairs, he won’t have to see it. But it’s good to hear that you seem to be doing okay.

He returns to his room, firmly closing the door shut and flopping on his bed. His brow furrows as he stares at the ceiling. He wonders if he should pay you a visit later, when the team has left and won’t notice him skipping back down to you. It’s only one in the afternoon. Should he wait a few more hours, or until nighttime when everyone is in bed? But then there’s the most important factor: you. Would you be asleep? Bucky knows you need your rest; you got shot in the leg for Christ sakes. He’d want some peaceful rest too. But you seem like a night owl to him. Maybe it’d be okay?

He shakes his head when too many thoughts come crashing together at once. He reaches under his bed and pulls out the iPod you gave him with the most popular hits over the past few decades. He hasn’t stopped listening to the playlist since you gave it to him. It was a nice gesture on your part, but he didn’t realize how much he’d actually appreciate it. Hearing songs from his childhood (from the fragments he can remember) to his teens and adulthood was a godsend. And even though his mind was constantly played with and erased, the melody of the song and the lyrics would strike a cord in him, old memories and emotions surfacing. Some nights he would let a few tears slip out because it felt so familiar to him, but he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moments in his life where a song would make him feel so emotional. And he hates it. But, in all honesty, the power of the song overcomes his hatred no problem. Even more so, because you did it because you wanted to. You didn’t want anything out of it; you just wanted to help him.

With an affirmative grunt, he’s made a decision. He would go visit you later that night, where he could speak to you in private. For now, he’ll attempt to have another dreamless sleep.

* * *

Back downstairs, the team has settled down some after getting their teasing out of the way. You’re still wiping away a few tears because you were laughing so hard. Tony has since closed the surveillance video, since he got his mocking words of praise out of his system. You managed to finish your meal, and set your tray aside to enjoy the company of your friends.

“Okay okay okay,” Steve starts. “In all seriousness, I’m proud of _______ for taking things into her own hands. She fought well, thought on her feet, and got a few arrests under her belt.”

“Oh my god, Steeeeve,” you whimper, covering your face in your hands. You cannot take him seriously sometimes. His puppy dog behaviour and big dad smile makes your heart melt every time.

“Hey, I’m just laying down the truth for ya,” he says, smiling widely. “I’d say we give you a couple cheers for your hard work.”

There’s a few groans, which only makes Steve laugh and egg them on.

“Come on, guys. You know she deserves it. We don’t have any drinks, but I think a few congratulations are in order.”

You just shake your head and grab your milk carton, raising it up in the air. Steve claps a hand on your shoulder, and squeezes.

“Congratulations on your first successful solo mission, _______.”

There’s a chorus of “congrats” and “good job”s. You happily sip on your milk, your cheeks turning pink from slight embarrassment. You look up at the ceiling when F.R.I.D.A.Y. joins in on the conversation.

“Miss _______, you are receiving a Skype call from Maeve.”

Your stomach drops, and your smile disappears. You’ve done a decent job at keeping Maeve up-to-date on things going on in the compound, with yourself, and everyone else. It’s been a week, and you haven’t had the chance to call her. She’s probably freaking out right about now.

“ _Shit_ ,” you whisper to yourself. The thought of Maeve letting you have it is more terrifying than getting shot in the leg. Your heart beats uncomfortably fast and hot in your chest.

“You alright, kid?” Tony asks.

“Yeah,” you wave him off. “I just… I haven’t spoken to her in a week because of me being here. She doesn’t know what’s been going on.”

“Would you like some privacy?” Steve asks.

“Ye–Actually, no,” you reply after giving it a quick thought. “No. You guys can stay. I think she’d like it. Take her attention away from being mad at me.”

The team looks at each other, but you pay them no mind. Maeve is the only one who knows about you being here; everyone else, including your family, has no idea what you’ve been doing. And you’d like to keep it that way.

“Miss _______. Shall I accept the call?”

“Everyone get over here,” you say first, waving your arms. “Come on, come on!” The team does as they’re told, and surround your bed. Once you think everyone is in the picture, you tell F.R.I.D.A.Y. to accept the call.

“On screen, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“Skype call on screen.”

When the call is accepted, all you see is the empty living room of your shared apartment with Maeve. You cock your head to the side, wondering if the screen is frozen.

“Maeve?” you call out.

“Oh! Look who finally decided to pick up the phone!” she yells from the kitchen. “I can’t believe you! You know I was actually worried, right? I thought huh, maybe she just wants some time to herself, or she’s on a really long mission. But a week, _______? Really? And not a single update?”

“Uh, Maeve–“

“And don’t even get me started on the fact that you haven’t sent me  _any_  SnapChat updates! Absolutely nothing! No workout rooms, no briefings, not even goddamn food! Did you get hit in the head again?”

“Meave–“

“I bet you did. And that’s why you haven’t been showing me those glorious pe–“

She stops herself when she finally comes into view and sees just who she’s been talking to. You give her a bashful smile and a little wave.

“Surpriiiiise!”

You’ve never seen Maeve so awestruck before. Her mouth is gaping open, she’s frozen in place, and she keeps moving her eyes left and right, but not her head. You’re a little awestruck yourself.

“Maeve? Maeve?”

“_-_______?” she stammers, walking closer to her laptop. She sits down and sets the computer in her lap. There’s a long moment of awkward silence, with you expecting more of a reaction, while everyone else is confused. Maeve covers her mouth with one hand, and finally speaks again.

“You’re… you’re in a hospital bed. What the hell happened? Is this why I haven’t heard from you?”

You’re honestly sort of surprised she’s not freaking out more about seeing The Avengers, but you guess you’re her priority right now.

“Uh, y-yeah. I got shot in the leg and–“

“You got shot in the leg?!” she screams. “Holy  _shit_ , _______! How did that happen?”

“I went on a mission alone,” you answer, taking it slow. “The mission was a success, but I got shot in the leg in the process. And I sorta… I was unconscious for a week because of some alcohol and morphine problems, but I’m okay now! I can’t walk by myself for a while, but it’s all good.”

She snorts and makes a bunch of incoherent noises, shaking the laptop screen.

“All good?  _All good_?!” she yells, exasperated. “You’re in a hospital bed, _______! You got shot in the leg and you’re in a hospital bed surrounded by every… one.” She’s just realizing now that not only is she speaking to you, but also Sam, Steve, Tony, Wanda, Natasha, and Vision. She stops rambling and gives a wave to the camera.

“Uhhh. Hi! I-I’m Maeve.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Steve smiles. “Well. On screen, anyway.”

“Y-Yeah, same here!” she squeaks. Now she’s getting excited. Her eyes flit all over the place, smiling more and more at each face she sees.

“I’m just–wow. It’s so awesome to see everyone like this. Well, not like  _this_  this, because _______ is confined to a bed and all. You know what I mean. Just… wOW. I can’t believe this! _______, I’m really happy that you’re okay. And I’m sorry for yelling. I just–“

“Don’t even worry about it,” you interrupt, holding up your hand. “You can have your moment.”

Sitting back, you let Maeve talk to the team. Tony is a little adamant about it because he doesn’t really like outsiders prying into the compound and The Avengers’ business, but since it’s  _your_  personal friend, he’s not being as stubborn about it. The conversations go on for well over an hour, and you can’t believe it. It almost feels kind of nostalgic, the whole situation reminding you of when you would get together with your friends and talk the night away. Sharing stories, gossiping, and just plain enjoying each other’s presence. It’s a nice reminder to make you relax and be thankful for what you have.

“And man, you would not  _believe_  the pictures she takes,” Maeve continues, making you blush.

“Stop bragging about me already,” you complain, rubbing your forehead.

“Please, do,” Tony adds, giving you a smirk.

“Shut up, you,” you snap back.

“I hate to break up this reunion,” Dr. Markson speaks up, after remaining silent the entire time. “But _______ is going to need a lot of rest tonight. Tomorrow she starts her rehabilitation lessons, and I would advise that she be well rested to be prepared for it.”

There’s a loud chorus of “aww”s from everyone, though Tony’s is more sarcastic than anything. Though he did enjoy this little get-together, the doctor is right. You need your rest.

“Okay, everyone,” he announces. “Time to wrap it up. Let’s go.”

Wanda and Natasha come over to give you a hug, Sam gives you a firm handshake and a back clap. Vision nods his head, Tony waves, and Steve gives you a kiss to your temple before they all file out. You wave enthusiastically, and laugh when Maeve gives them all a giant goodbye. She gives you a pouty smile when it’s her turn to bid you farewell.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?” you tell her. “After I do my therapy. Hopefully I don’t fall down the stairs.”

“Knowing you, you probably will,” she chuckles. She smiles sadly, and rests her cheek on her knee. “I hope you get better soon, _______.”

“Mm. So do I,” you agree. “Slán go fóill.”

_Bye for now._

“Slán go fóill, mo chara.”

_By for now, my friend._

She ends the Skype call, and then you’re surrounded by silence again. Dr. Markson fills out a few papers, and you have nothing better to do. You’ll be confined to your bed until tomorrow, but you’ll be damned if you go to sleep again. You’re too awake to do that. You see a remote sitting on one of the desks. Might as well ask.

“Dr. Markson?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I get TV in this room?”

“Of course.”

He turns around in his chair, grabs the remote, and shows you how to use it, since it’s Tony’s technology. And even some of that you don’t understand. He shows you the basics, the TV being projected on the glass wall in front of you. A regular TV would do you just fine instead of having so many projections coming on at once. After fiddling around with it for a few minutes, you settle for a movie that’s half an hour in. You sit back and relax, but you feel something funny going on in your stomach. You lift the sheets, looking at your lower half.

“Um,” you start, not knowing how you should say this. “Can I… go to the bathroom? Or is that being taken care of?”

“Hmm? Oh,” he smiles. “Yes. A Foley catheter has been draining your bladder since your accident. I’ll take that out tomorrow as well, before your rehab session.”

You nod your head and put the sheets back down. Having your insides being taken care of isn’t all that bad. Especially this; you don’t know how well you’d fair trying to walk to the bathroom to do your business, let alone trying to sit down. A blessing in disguise.

Reclining your bed to a good TV watching position, you keep the remote by your side, remaining still and silent when Dr. Markson does a few check-ups on you. You can’t really complain; he and his team saved your life, so you’re going to keep your mouth shut until someone asks you something. For now, you sit back and watch your movie.

Back upstairs, everyone goes to their own separate spaces, but Steve immediately goes to see Bucky in his room. He looks behind him to see if anyone else is coming. When there isn’t, he knocks on the door.

“Buck? It’s me.”

When he doesn’t hear an answer, he knocks again, only louder.

“Buck? You in there?”

He hesitantly opens the door, peeking inside. He sees Bucky sitting cross-legged on his bed, back hunched over, earbuds firmly in place. Steve opens the door wider and smiles, leaning against the doorframe. Steve slaps his hand on the wall a few times. Bucky jumps and tears the earbuds out and looks behind him.

“Steve,” he half laughs, half scowls. “Don’t do that.”

“Hey well, I tried knocking,” Steve counters. “You didn’t hear me.”

“Guess not.”

Steve looks down at the iPod in Bucky’s hands, staring curiously at it. Bucky takes notice and holds it up.

“iPod,” he says, turning it in his hands. “Plays music.”

“I know,” Steve says. “Better than the radio, isn’t it?”

“Leaps and bounds better, I’d say.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“_______ gave it to me.”

“Ohhhhh.”

Bucky tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes at Steve. He knows that kind of “oh”.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’,” he says. “Just nice to hear that she’s getting you invested in the latest technology too. I’ve had my share, now it’s your turn.”

“I guess,” Bucky sighs. “This is it for now.”

As Bucky scrolls through the songs again, Steve crosses his arms and observes his best friend. He seems really invested in his new iPod; it must be why he stays in his room for so long, only coming out to get food or to train. This image of Bucky not being afraid of technology warms Steve’s heart. A baby step for Bucky, but it’s a step nonetheless.

“We missed you down there,” Steve says. “Why didn’t you come?”

“I didn’t want to make the room come to a complete stop with me in there,” Bucky explains, leaning against the wall.

“No you wouldn’t, Buck,” Steve retorts. “_______ would’ve loved to see you there with everyone. And so would I.”

“I dunno, Steve,” he shrugs. “I’m not quite there yet.”

Steve sighs, knowing as well as Bucky that he’s right. Even though he’s been here for a little while now, he hasn’t gotten into the groove of things. Tony and Sam put him on edge, and he doesn’t want to risk anything else horrible happening while he’s thrown into the mix.

“Okay,” Steve says softly, halfway out the door. “Will you see her sometime, then? For her? I’m sure she’d appreciate it, and love to hear about how much you’re loving your gift. Maybe even keep her company for a while until she gets back on her own two feet.”

Bucky looks up at him and is about to protest, but he just pulls his mouth to the side. He was going visit you anyway, but he might as well let Steve know. He’s asking, anyhow. Playing babysitter doesn’t exactly sound that exciting to him, but someone’s got to look after you when everyone else is away on a mission. Who knows. Maybe he’ll enjoy it. Finally, he nods firmly, then plugs his earbuds back in. Steve takes that as his sign to leave. He closes the door softly, smiling to himself. He decides to go to the kitchen to make himself some victory lunch, silently wishing Bucky the best.

* * *

When seven o’clock rolls around, you’re told that it’s dinnertime, and then bedtime right after. You’re tempted to keep watching TV until your show is over, but you’re not in the mood to hear parent-like remarks coming from the medical staff. Sighing in defeat, you turn off the projection and put the remote down on the desk beside you. Reclining the bed to a comfortable eating position, you accept the dinner tray and start eating your mashed potatoes and cream corn.

Once you’re finished, you give the tray back to one of the nurses and put your bed back into a horizontal position. Yawning, you rub your eyes and shift a little farther down your bed, careful not to disturb your wounded leg. It’s been quite interesting, sleeping on your back. And when you say “interesting”, you mean shitty. No amount of turning your head from side to side is going to save you from the hell that is complete horizontal positioning. With no other choice than to just endure it, you close your eyes and idly wave goodbye to Dr. Markson as he takes his leave.

“Rehabilitation will be at eight o’clock tomorrow morning,” he says, halfway out the door. “Be ready.”

“Mm. I will,” you reply sleepily.

“Goodnight, _______.”

“Night.”

Dr. Markson dims the lights as he turns down a hallway and out of sight. If anything should happen to you during the night, they have 24/7 surveillance and alarm systems to warn them if anything serious is going on. You’re in the safest place in all of Los Angeles, and all of the Avengers are above you, if needed. Most likely not, but it’s a soothing thought. After several shifting attempts, you manage to fall asleep on your left side within the hour.

* * *

Around nine o’clock, Bucky decided to pay you a visit without being noticed, clad in his sweat pants and white tank top. But when he got downstairs, you were already asleep. He debated whether or not to stay, since he didn’t want to disturb you. However, he pulled up a chair beside you anyway, and silently watched you sleep peacefully.

That was an hour ago. Now, you’re twitching more in your sleep, your brows furrow in frustration, and your lip quivers. You’re sweating hotly, and grasp the sheets in despair. Your harmless dream has turned into a haunting nightmare, and your body is reacting accordingly. Bucky watches on, knowing that countless times he’s slept like this: fearful and aggravated. He always woke up in a cold sweat, dazed and confused about where he was. From time to time he’d get lucky and dream a dreamless sleep, but those were rare occasions. There’s too many horrors in his mind to poke and prod at him when he’s supposed to feel safe.

In your dream, you’re at club Death Row, with Marko Snyders standing over you. He had already shot and killed agent Knox. Your ears are ringing from explosions outside the club, and from hitting your head on the floor. Your vision is hazy, your body weak, your mind frail and vulnerable. Everything seems to move in slow motion; from Marko waving his gun, to the two bodyguards leaving with agent Knox’s body. You start seeing double, and the club glows red. You reach your arm out for agent Knox, and Marko laughs in your face.

“Sorry, darlin’. You ain’t gettin’ out of this one.”

He starts backing out of the club, and holds up your lighter, lighting a flame. You try to scream, but no noise comes out. Trying to stand won’t work either; your body is firmly planted to the floor. Just as Marko is at the door, he drops your lighter and the whole room goes up in flames. You keep opening your mouth to call for help, but it’s just utter silence. You’re helpless as the fire catches you, engulfing you and the club in a roaring fire.

Your body reacts terribly to this, as you cry yourself awake, and jolt upright. You cry out in pain from stretching your leg too quickly. You hunch over and hold it delicately, breathing hardly. Looking up, you take a moment to remember where you are. Bucky remains in his seat, but is ready to take action if need be. You put a hand over your chest, and breathe deeply to calm yourself down. Something feels off, so you look to your left.

“B-Bucky?” you stammer.

“Hi, _______,” he says calmly. “You alright?”

Your gaze moves from the floor, to the walls, and ceiling. Then you look down at the hospital bed, your gown, and the electrodes attached to your chest.

_Right. I’m in the compound. Recovering. I’m alive._

Coming back to earth, you take deep breaths as you gently rub your temples. Bucky leans his elbows on his knees, holding his hands. You wipe the tears from your face, and lay back against your bed again. Having Bucky witness you crying yourself awake from a nightmare isn’t anything less than embarrassing. Though you suppose it’s alright; he’s probably woken up in a similar fashion before. He could empathize. After calming down from your breakdown, you turn your head to face him.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

“Hi,” he replies.

You look at the time on the wall to your right, then back to Bucky.

“What’re you doing down here so late?”

He clears his throat and avoids eye contact with you for a moment. It’s a little strange to visit you while you’re asleep, but he wanted to visit you alone. Without the judgmental eyes of certain people. Seeing as you clearly already know the answer to your question, he answers truthfully.

“I came to visit you.”

You smile softly, but it turns into a full-on grin the more you look at him. He smiles back and turns to the floor, licking his lips apprehensively.

“Thanks,” you speak up, saving him the embarrassment at the fact that he came so late. “Better late than never, right?”

“Better late than never,” he agrees, smiling shyly. He eyes all of the medical equipment that’s keeping you alive at the moment. You tilt your head to the side as he does so. You look at the machines with him, then down at yourself. You huff a laugh.

“Y’know,” you start, regaining his attention. “I’ve never had to stay in a hospital bed this long before. I mean. Yeah, I had to sit on one for when I broke my ankle and fainted after giving blood but… this sets a new record.”

Bucky shakes his head, but a small smile curves at his lips. You’re so different from everyone else; so carefree and titillating. You say strange things at times, just like now, and he finds it extremely amusing, but also a little weird. But hey, aren’t they all?

You laugh at his reaction and continue on.

“All these things,” you say, gesturing to the machines in the room. “I’ve never had this many things attached to me. I had a feeding tube in me not too long ago. It was so nasty when the doctor took it out. I could feel it coming out of my stomach and up my throat. I gagged so hard. I’ve never been so grossed out. But I still got my IV tube, though. Gotta get those sugars and nutrients. Ummm. I had a blood transfusion, and a Foley catheter is emptying my bladder for me. Pretty convenient, if you ask me. Saves me the trip to the bathroom. Theeee microwavable dinners aren’t too bad, but man. What I would do for some of Wanda’s chicken paprikash right about now.”

Bucky nods along the whole time, not daring to interrupt you. Listening to you drag on about the pros and cons of hospital care keeps a tender smile on his face. Your enthusiasm is infectious, and he’s definitely caught it. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t not stop smiling. You sigh at the end of your rant, and he takes that as his turn to speak.

“So how’ve you been, other than what you just said?”

“You mean about getting shot in the leg?”

“…More or less.”

You shrug indifferently. Peeling back the sheets and pulling up your gown, you show him the giant gauze wrapped securely around your thigh. You pat the skin above it, and cautiously move your leg around as you explain.

“Firstly, and I think this goes without saying, that getting shot at is terrifying.” You look at him, and he nods in agreement. Smacking your lips together, you play with your gown as you share your experience with him. “I don’t think it helped my cause that I drank so much. The nerves were getting the better of me and I just needed to relax. I don’t know if this is true, but I bet it was a factor that because I drank so much, I was a little slow on things. At least for my mobility and reaction time. Anyway. I managed to get the target to me, and kept him talking and distracted, long enough for me to almost get him out of there. Almost. I don’t know how, but he knew that I was there for him. He put a gun to my back, and my dumbass didn’t bring one because I thought I wouldn’t need it. Rookie mistake there. Nearly got blown to bits if that other agent wasn’t in there with me.”

You pause to stretch your neck and sigh tiredly. Bucky thinks him being here is keeping you awake from the rest you need, and asks if you want him to go.

“No, no,” you say, shaking your hand. “It’s okay. I didn’t really talk to any of them about this. They just watched the video.”

“Video?”

“Yeah. Coulson had surveillance cameras in the place. Didn’t bother to tell me about them.”

“Would it… would it be easier for you if I watched it instead?”

“Probably, but. I feel like if I don’t talk about it now, then I won’t get another chance. It’ll be pent up inside me, and I’ve done that way too often to know how much it hurts not to say anything.”

Bucky thins his mouth into a tight line, knowing exactly what you’re talking about. He never wants to talk about anything that he’s been through. Past, present; it doesn’t matter. The only willing person to listen is Steve, and even then he can’t bring himself to tell him anything. Being his best friend, he thought he’d be able to. But the horrors he’s done and been through are terrifying and ugly enough to keep his mouth shut. He doesn’t want anyone else to go through what he did, and talking about it is only going to include people in his fears and repulsion. So he’s not going to open up any time soon.

“Okay,” he finally says. He pulls his chair a little closer and leans in, willing to listen.

“Thanks,” you mumble. You get back on track, digging your fingernails into each other. “Sooo. Yeah. The second agent. Didn’t tell me that either. Though it was deemed a solo mission, I was hoping there’d be at least one other person on the inside to guide me. Um.” You rub your forehead, trying to remember exactly what happened. It was seven days ago, and being hyped up on morphine and alcohol at the time isn’t the best combination. Especially when it comes to remembering things. Even though you watched the video with the team a hundred times just a few hours ago, your mind is still a little hazy.

“You know what. I’ll just show you this part instead. I can’t quite remember the details.”

You tell F.R.I.D.A.Y. to pull up the video again, and play it from the part that agent Knox holds a gun to the back of Marko’s head. Nodding in remembrance, you talk over the video to give Bucky the run down about what went on in your head.

“Having a gun pressed against my back isn’t the most pleasant thing in the world,” you say, eyes fixed on the screen. “Honestly, I almost started crying because I was so scared. But agent Knox came in and helped me out. She took care of him while I had the heavy task of taking down two grown men. I didn’t think I’d be able to do that either, but I did. Surprisingly. Nat gave me gun lessons, and did some self-defence training, but I couldn’t remember all of it. I did what I did from what I could remember from YouTube videos I watched instead.”

He turns to you in confusion, having not heard that name before.

“It’s a uh, video-sharing website. I’ll tell ya about that later.”

He nods in understanding and turns back to the video like you do.

“Obviously, I had to act quickly. No time to think. Just do. I had guys the size of Steve to overthrow, and I didn’t think I’d make it. Seeing his gun scared the life out of me. And I’ve never been so high on adrenaline either. I guess it kinda kicked me in the ass to get myself moving and out of danger. All was well until–“

You stop to let Bucky hear the gunshot.

“I get shot in the leg. I didn’t really feel it at first. Kinda felt like something was weighing me down. Well, obviously, because I’m on the floor.” You wave yourself off and cross your arms as you watch the rest of it. “Everyone got a little tense while watching this part. They know I don’t die, but when they saw it for the first time… I felt kind of guilty for making them look so worried. But they got over it, because I took my opening and lit him up.”

Bucky’s eyes light up in surprise when he watches you set Marko’s arm and face on fire, then swiftly put yourself in front of agent Knox to protect her. You quickly pick up your lighter and surround Marko and his bodyguards with flames as agent Knox picks up the discarded gun and keeps them from moving also. The video ends when all the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents come filing in and make the arrests. You click your tongue as the video fades off the screen.

“Soooo yeah. That’s how my first solo mission went.”

“I think you did pretty well,” Bucky comments without missing a beat, now staring at the blank glass wall. “A good strategy, no hostages, no injured civilians. Despite the execution being a little sloppy, you came out alright, doll.”

You blink in surprise when he calls you that again. You could get used to it. He doesn’t seem to mind using it either; that, or he’s silently screaming inside for letting it slip out again. You don’t dwell on it though, and just let your cheeks and ears go bright red in embarrassment.

“Thanks, Bucky,” you say. “It really makes me feel better about myself when someone tells me I’m doing things right.”

“No problem,” he says, giving you a firm nod.

“Mm. But the story doesn’t stop there I’m afraid,” you scoff. “A gunshot wound doesn’t usually make you fall unconscious.”

“So, what happened?”

“Well. I told you I was drinking, right? Very bad move on my part. Getting shot didn’t help me at all. When all was said and done, I was going to go with some paramedics to get treated. But me, again, being a dumbass again, said ‘no, just get me the morphine and I’ll be on my way’.”

“And why’s that?”

You take a shaky breath, laughing a little as you scratch the back of your head and peek up at him.

“I had to make a McDonald’s run.”

That certainly earns you a reaction. His eyebrows raise, his eyes widen, and his mouth drops in utter astonishment. He cannot believe what you just said.

“A McDonald’s run,” he repeats. “You declined medical attention for a gunshot wound because you had to go to a fast food restaurant in the middle of the night?”

You nod.

“Are you serious?”

“Well I kinda lied to Sam about where I was going,” you explain. “So I said I was going there instead and I asked if he wanted anything. I had to go pick it up, Bucky. The man needed his nuggets.”

He sits back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair. He gives you the side-eye, trying to look cross, but he just ends up laughing to himself and shaking his head.

“You sure are something,” he says, letting his hand fall in his lap.

“I’m getting a lot of that lately,” you say. “Though I take it as a compliment.”

“You should,” he jokes. After getting over his initial shock, he gets you back on track.

“So you got the nuggets and then what?” he questions. “You wanted to go for a late night swim, too?”

“No!” you laugh. “’Course not. I just didn’t want to come home empty handed, is all.”

“Riiight,” he nods. “Because having a bullet wedged in your thigh isn’t as important as four little nuggets in a box.”

“He wanted twenty nuggets, Bucky,” you tell him.

“Twenty?!” he damn near yells. “This guy wanted not four, not ten, but  _twenty_  chicken nuggets? Who the hell does he think he is? Either he’s stupid or greedy. I’m betting on both.”

“Oh come on,” you chide. “I’d want twenty nuggets as a late night snack too! Can you really blame him?”

“…Yes.”

You laugh out-loud at his response. This is probably the most Bucky has spoken to you in one sitting, other than the plane ride back from Wakanda. Before he would just grunt and have one-worded answers. But now he’s a chatterbox. It’s a great relief to see him in such a calm, blissful, chill mood. He must be having a good day.

“Okay, anywayyy,” you start, getting back to the story. “So I go with Coulson to McDonald’s and get Sam’s order then drive home. I was drugged with quite a lot of morphine I’d say, but I vaguely remember pushing myself out of the driver’s window to threaten the person working at the window to give me all the kid’s toys or I’d burn the place to the ground…”

Bucky stares at you blankly. You shrug.

“Yeah. So that was me. Then he dropped me off at the compound, I went upstairs, and everyone was yelling. Then I fell unconscious. Into you. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“’S no problem.”

He thinks about mentioning what you said to him before you passed out, about him helping you with the mission, but he keeps his mouth shut about it for now. He’ll ask about it later. Maybe.

“Still… Then the  _real_  problems began. Out cold for seven days, all because of a bullet? I don’t think so. Apparently, injecting morphine into an alcohol-stained system is very, very dangerous. The doctor told me that I could have fallen into a coma and died. Not exactly what anyone wants to hear, but luckily it didn’t happen. It must’ve been a mess, though, trying to stabilize me  _and_  treat my wound at the same time. But he and his team managed to do it. A week and a blood transfusion later, I’m here. Alive and well. For the most part. I got rehab tomorrow, so that should be fun.”

“Sounds like you had a hell of a time,” he comments, now staring at the gauze wrapped around your thigh. “I imagine the pain wasn’t what you were expecting, either.”

“I didn’t know what to expect, to be honest,” you reply. “I know that different sized bullets all have their own pain threshold. Like, a shotgun won’t give you the same amount of pain as a pistol or revolver. I got shot with a semi-automatic handgun, and it stung like a bitch. When I first woke up, the painkillers were doing their job pretty well, but whenever I move my leg I can still feel it. No more rigorous activity for me for a while.”

“And it looks like I’m your new playmate,” he remarks.

“What do you mean?”

“Well. Since you’re out of commission for the unforeseeable future, I’m the only one you’ve got to keep you company.”

“Ohhh.”

This is some of the best news you’ve heard all damn day. You don’t show your excitement, because you don’t want Bucky to see just how thrilled you are about it. Instead, you smile fondly.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you tell him.

“So is Steve,” he adds in.

“I imagine,” you agree. “He kept telling me that I need to have someone with me so I don’t get too lonely or whatever.”

“Sounds like him.”

You nod in agreement, leaning back in your bed and closing your eyes. You throw an arm over your face, and cough quietly, suddenly feeling boiling.

“Heh. Is it hot in here or is it just me?”

Sweat drips down your neck, your back, and down your legs. Waking up from your nightmare caused you to break out into a sweat, but you pushed it aside to talk to Bucky. Now that you’ve said what you wanted to say, your attention is back on your bodily problems.

Bucky watches you take short breaths, and kick the sheets away because you’re so uncomfortable. He looks at his metal hand, wondering if he should help you cool down. That’d be okay, right? He’s not going to hurt you, and that’s never going to be his intention when he uses his left arm. He purses his lips in anticipation, ready for you to smack him away. He slowly gets out of his chair, and hesitantly extends his metal arm over your head.

“_______, can you move your arm?”

You flop it down on the bed without saying a word. Bucky swallows nervously as he gently presses his palm against your forehead. You gasp at the contact, but sigh from how much better you feel.

“Oh god, that feels so much better,” you say, placing your hands on top of his. Shivers go down your spine the more you touch his arm. You keep your eyes closed so you don’t feel weird about manhandling his arm to cool down. Bucky can’t move without letting you go, and since you have your eyes closed, he takes this short time to look at you.

The way your hair sticks to your forehead and neck as you continue to sweat. Your chest rising and falling in short breaths. The shakiness of your fingers as you clutch his arm. The way your good leg twitches every so often, and how you bite your bottom lip from the occasional pain from your wound. He absentmindedly brushes his thumb along your forehead, and tilts his head to the side as he watches you calm down. When you’ve had your fill, you squeeze his hand and finally peek up at him.

“Thanks, for that,” you mumble, taking his hand away. “Though I imagine your hand’s all sweaty now.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky says, retracting his arm. “As long as you feel better.”

“Trust me, I am.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

You pull the blankets back up to your knees, and shift your body again until you’re in a comfortable position. You smile at him, happy that you got to be able to spend this time with him. Bucky stands up again as you fiddle with your fingers, taking that as his leave to go.

“Later, skater,” you call as he starts to leave.

“Goodnight, _______,” he returns, smiling. “Good luck with your rehab.”

“Thanks. See ya tomorrow, couch buddy.”

He nods as he walks out the door, making sure not to produce any additional noise as you try to find your way to sleep again.


	12. Your Pal, Your Buddy

As promised, Dr. Markson wakes you up at 7:30am for your therapy. It was a shitty sleep, considering you woke up two more times. You’re absolutely jaded, and are not ready for the day. It takes a few extensive shakes to keep you from falling asleep again. You force yourself awake using the fact that Bucky will be with you all day. Maybe. Hopefully. At least some of it. Guaranteed.

Dr. Markson removes your Foley catheter like he said, and also the IV drip after some consideration. He changes your bandages before giving you your breakfast: scrambled eggs paired with a mixed berry smoothie. Not too bad; a healthy way to start your day. You eat moderately, and listen to Dr. Markson as you eat.

“It has now been eight days since your gunshot wound has been treated,” he starts. “I used non-dissolvable stitches. Normally, they can be removed within three to twenty-one days. But since I am who I am, that may not be necessary. I could remove them today or tomorrow. It all depends on how well you do in rehab today. Do not strain yourself, or else you may cause the stitches to break and re-open your wound. And we cannot have that.”

You gulp down your smoothie and nod as you do so. That’s some good news, at least. The quicker you get outta here, the faster you can get back on your feet and do missions. Plus, you were kind of hoping that since Tony has all this advanced technology, and the medical world has progressed so much, a gunshot wound to the leg wouldn’t be too hard to treat. You vaguely remember Natasha mentioning a Dr. Cho. You can hardly remember it, but the woman really seemed like she knew what she was doing with the Cradle thing she created. You’d love to meet her someday.

After finishing your breakfast, Dr. Markson removes the electrodes attached to your chest, and very carefully helps you out of bed. You grip his arm as you put pressure on your right foot. You grimace, the pain instantly shooting up your leg. The moment he realizes that you’re in pain, he leads you over to a wheelchair he brought for this exact reason. Your arms shake as you grip the armrests, and slowly lower yourself down into the seat. Dr. Markson raises the right footplate to ease some of the pressure on your leg. You grunt when it feels better, but it’s still sore. Once you’re situated, he pushes you over to the elevator punches in the number for the second floor.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Can’t complain,” you reply. “I’m just ready to be over and done with this.”

The elevator dings, and Dr. Markson brings you to the office where administrative affairs of the Avengers are conducted. Inside, you’re greeted by a young woman in a pantsuit, her hair neatly tucked up into a tight bun. She smiles kindly as she stands up from behind her desk.

“Good morning, Dr. Markson, _______,” she says.

“Mornin’,” you answer.

“Good morning, Dr. Laine,” Dr. Markson replies.

You’ve never really been in here before. An office is supposed to have a considerable amount of space anyway, but this is just pushing it. The whole room could easily be 500 square feet. There’s bookshelves on either end of the walls, lined with hundreds of books on physiotherapy, psychology, counselling and the like. To your left is a seating area for speaking to multiple people at a time, and on the other end is equipment used for those who require physiotherapy and physical therapy. The one you recognize right away that you might use are the parallel bars. Yawning, you wipe a hand down your face and give Dr. Laine a very tired look.

“For today, we will have a one-hour session,” she explains, rounding her desk to lean against it. “Having spent eight days in recovery already, I would hope that your wound has been healing well. Nevertheless, we are going to take it slow and see where you’re at.”

“Okay,” you say wearily.

“I leave her in your care, Dr. Laine,” Dr. Markson says. “Please update me on any developments.”

“Will do,” she nods. “Have a nice day, sir.”

He nods back, and gives you an encouraging pat on the head before he takes his leave. An awkward silence passes as neither of you two speak. Your new doctor decides to break that.

“Have you tried walking yet?”

“No,” you reply. “I mean, I tried when I was getting in this wheelchair, but it hurt too much.”

“I see. Since most of your time here will be spent training and regaining your strength in your leg, there’s only one piece of equipment for you to focus on.”

She gestures to the parallel bars behind you. You knew it.

“Alrighty,” you say, turning back around. “Now I know what to look forward to every time I come up here.”

She smiles kindly at your dismay.

“You’ll feel better in no time,” she says. “I can guarantee it.”

“Mm. I hope so.”

“Also. Dr. Markson gave me his report on your wound,” she starts, picking up a file from her desk and skimming through the pages. “You’ve been responding well to treatment, and you’re in good health. I’d say the only thing you need is determination.”

“Trust me, doctor,” you cut in. “I am determined as ever to get out of this chair and walk on my own.”

She slaps the file shut and sets it back on her desk.

“Let’s get to it then, shall we?”

* * *

Using the bars was more painful than you thought.

Dr. Laine took the first fifteen minutes to explain how she’s going to evaluate you and deem which exercises are the most beneficial to help you recover. And depending on how you progress, you’ll be permitted to push yourself a little more. It sounded spectacular, but it’s going to take time. And if there’s one thing you know about time, is that it’s unpredictable. You never know what may happen.

Currently, she’s seeing how well you can handle yourself while using the bars. She writes down notes for herself as she observes you. You can use them perfectly fine, your left foot firmly planted on the floor. As for your right foot, the most pressure you can use is from going on your tippy toes to avoid having piercing pain spread through you. You exhaust the strength of your arms to keep you upright. For the most part, it’s an easy thing to do, but without being able to use your right leg at all, you’ll have to endure the agonizing pain of using crutches again.

Once you reach the end of the bars, you breathe through the pain as Dr. Laine comes over and kneels down to examine you.

“Can you stretch your entire leg out for me?”

Nodding, you grip the bars and look down as you shakily extend your leg for her. She grips your foot, and gradually starts bending your leg. Your eye twitches in anticipation. When you can’t take the pain anymore, you tell her to stop. Your leg ends at about a 45° angle, then she gently lets you go to write down her findings. She stands up again, holding her notebook firmly in front of her, and tells you to go again.

“This is to get you used to the feeling of walking again,” she explains. “The more you walk, the more you’ll improve. But, as Dr. Markson said, it takes time. So don’t push yourself when our sessions are complete.”

“Un. I know.”

Taking a breath, you turn back around, careful not to bump your thigh into the bar, and begin again.

After your first rehab session with Dr. Laine is over, you thank her, and promise to follow her instructions. She gives you a pair of crutches, as promised, then you waddle your way to the elevator, going back to the main floor. As you exit the doors, you immediately smell something good. You have the strongest urge to go see who it is and what they’re cooking, but you’re still in your hospital gown. You can’t go walking around with your backside showing, so you quietly make your way to your room. No one notices you along the way; you shut the door quietly, and sigh in relief.

“Finally out of that goddamn bed.”

The first thing you do is go to your dresser. You lean your crutches against it and start untying your gown. Letting it drop to the floor, you pick out a brand new shirt, and a pair of loose shorts. You need to be able to change your bandages by yourself when the time comes, so easy access is the key.

You put on your shirt first, then debate how you’re going to put on your shorts. You can’t bend your leg, and the most comfortable it’s going to be is when it’s almost straight. Looking at your bed, you sigh sadly. You opt to limp over, then carefully lay yourself down. You loop the left side of your shorts over your foot before doing the same to your right. Reaching forward, you grab the hem and start shimmying them up your legs until they reach your hips, then button them up. There. That wasn’t so hard. You glance over to your crutches leaning against your dresser.

“Shit.”

You ungracefully flop off your bed, then use the strength of your left leg to push you off the floor and grab onto your desk. You grab your crutches once you’re upright, then make way for the bathroom to fix your face.

A quick face wash, brush of your teeth, and a ponytail later, you’re finally ready to face the day.

Maybe.

You come out of your room again, wondering who’s making the best-smelling thing you’ve ever smelt in the past eight days. As you round the corner, you smile widely at Steve’s Dorito back. Being as quiet as possible, you sneak up to the island and take a seat, waiting for him to turn around. You lean to the side to see what he’s cooking, but you can’t really tell. Something in a pot.

 _I wonder if he’s used to not boiling things anymore_.

You giggle at the thought, which in turn gains Steve’s attention. He does a double-take, and smiles heartily when he realizes it’s you.

“_______!” he cheers.

“Hey,” you say, the biggest grin on your face.

“I didn’t think you’d be up and walking today.”

“Neither did I. It’s more limping than anything, though. Can’t really use my right leg yet.”

“Baby steps is still progress,” he comments, giving a glance to your crutches.

“Definitely,” you agree. “The faster this goes by, the closer I get to being back out in the field.”

“Slow your horses, _______,” he chides, turning back to his pot. “Take it easy for once.”

“I know, I know,” you say, waving him off. “I will. I don’t want the stitches to re-open, so trust me. I’m not gonna be bouncing on trampolines or go roller blading any time soon.”

“Good to hear it.”

“What’re you making, by the way?”

“Stew.”

“Stew? At nine in the morning?”

“It’s for dinner! It takes a while.”

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

“After getting over the fact that I didn’t have to boil things anymore, I got into the groove of things and decided to see what today’s technology had to offer.”

“And you opted for stew.”

“Yup.”

“Something that you can boil.”

He gives you a smile over his shoulder, then nods his head.

“Alright,” you say, holding your hands up. “I’m not judging. I just didn’t expect to see you doing that so early.”

“There’s a lot of things that you wouldn’t expect from me,” he cheekily adds.

“Should I be worried?” you ask.

“I dunno. Should you be?”

“Don’t turn it around like that, Steve Rogers. You’re making it sound like I should expect the worst from you.”

He shrugs indifferently, then focuses back on his stew. You shake your head and laugh to yourself.

“You sure are something, Dorito,” you say.

“And what is it with this ‘Dorito’?” he asks, turning back around. “Do I look–Bucky.”

You look over your shoulder; you didn’t even hear him come in. He looks a little worse for wear. His stubble is scruffier, his hair wilder, his eye-bags a little deeper. Despite his outward appearance, he manages a small smile.

“Hey,” he says softly, looking at you. “Feeling good?”

“More or less,” you say shyly. “I’m gonna be crippled until further notice.”

“That’s unfortunate,” he says, walking up to the island. “Better than being dead.”

“Got that right,” you agree, turning forward to look at him. “But it won’t be all that bad.”

“Why’s that?”

“’Cause I get to hang out with you the whole time.”

You’re surprised you were able to say that with a straight face. The corner of your mouth twitches, threatening to break out into a smile, but you bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself under control. He smiles and looks towards the floor.

“I don’t know how much fun I’ll be,” he says honestly.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say. “Just having another person around will satisfy me.”

“If you say so.”

Steve stirs his stew absentmindedly, and smiles to himself as he listens to you and Bucky talk. He gives Bucky a quick glimpse over his shoulder. Bucky notices, but doesn’t react. He just plants his hands on the counter and rolls back and forth. You look down at your hands, and pick at a hangnail. Another awkward silence fills the air. Steve slyly stares at Bucky, and rolls his thumb in a circle then nods at you. Bucky doesn’t seem to get it.

“iPod,” Steve mouths, then nods at you again.

Bucky “oh”s, nodding in understanding. He clears his throat and crosses his arms.

“Thanks again for the iPod,” he says, peeking up at you. You look at him too and smile. “It’s uh… I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” you say kindly. “Have you learned a little bit?”

“A bit,” he confesses. “A lot of things have changed.”

“Good change?” you ask.

“A nice transition,” he clarifies. “It’s different. But I like it.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Mm.”

“Mmmaybe I could show you a little more later. I know Steve made a list for all the things he missed while he was asleep. I could do the same for you, if you’d like.”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

Steve is living right now. Bucky’s finally opening up and talking more with someone that isn’t him. He seems to be doing a lot better these days, but Steve knows how much effort it takes to smile and power through the day when everything seems to be bugging you. He puts the lid on his pot and turns off the stove top.

“You two seem like you’re gonna have a productive day of doing nothing,” Steve announces. You and Bucky turn to him in unison.

“Ah, well,” you muse, shrugging. “I think it’ll be fun. I love teaching people new things. And I’m gonna say right now, I’m sorry if I get a little ahead of myself. Being immersed in technology is a blessing. A little bit of a curse too, because you can never put it down. I get all excited about it, so just be prepared for that.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” he replies.

“_______!” a new sing-song voice chimes in. You immediately know who it is.

“Wandaaa!” you cheer happily. You twist in your seat to accept her hug as she stretches out her arms.

“How are you?” she asks as she pulls away.

“Better,” you say. “I’ll get by with the crutches, but I can’t wait for them to be gone.”

“At least you’re up and walking. Somewhat,” she adds, smiling brightly.

_This girl is a dream._

She nods to Bucky to acknowledge him, and he does the same thing back. It’s sort of weird seeing them in the same room together. You don’t really know how they act towards one another. Do they just pass each other by? Or do they have conversations sometimes? You’ll have to ask her that when Bucky isn’t within earshot.

“What’re you up to today?” Wanda asks as she goes to the fridge to get some fruit.

“Not much,” you reply. “Just hanging around.”

She sets her fruit bowl down on the island, and looks towards Steve.

“Is she allowed to go outside yet?” she asks him, biting into a strawberry.

“Honestly, I’d prefer not,” he admits.

“Tony said I’m on house arrest,” you add in. “But who knows how long I’m gonna follow that demand.”

“_______,” Steve groans, shaking his head.

“What? I don’t wanna be cooped up in here until I’m better. Getting fresh air is good, y’know.”

“I know, but–“

“Ah ah ah. I don’t wanna hear it. If I wanna go out, then I’ll drag someone along with me. Deal?”

“…Fine.”

You and Steve shake on it, making Wanda, and even Bucky, smile.

“So, sorry if you wanted to take me out today, Wanda,” you apologize. She waves you off.

“It’s okay,” she says. “I can wait until you’re a little better.”

“Sounds good.”

Wanda takes her fruit bowl and goes back to her room to change before going out. Steve gives you and Bucky a hearty goodbye, then leaves the room as well. You grip your hands, mentally cursing Steve and Wanda for leaving you alone with Bucky. But you might as well get this started.

“Well. Looks like we won’t have our presence graced with anyone else for a while. Wanna start your lesson?”

“Lesson?”

“On technology.”

“Oh. Right.”

You get out of your seat, grabbing your crutches and make your way over to the living room. You plop your self down on the couch, Bucky taking a seat to your left. He’s in for a whirlwind of progression.

* * *

You started with the basics: how to use an iPhone, and all that comes with owning an Apple product. Most of the stuff Bucky couldn’t care less for, like iCloud or Airplay. The only thing he would really need a cellphone for is making calls. You taught him the art of text messaging and emojis, also things he didn’t really think were important. Though texting could be useful, he feels phone calls are easier and more efficient.

The next thing was apps, like the built-in ones Apple provides, and additional apps you can either download for free or buy. You don’t have many games yourself, just social media, but you have at least one or two for when you’re bored. After that was the actual social media apps. Explaining Facebook was simple enough; he grasped it easily. Now you’re onto one of your favourites: Twitter.

“Okay, so Twitter shouldn’t be a free app with all the stuff that goes down,” you start, opening the app itself and turning your phone to show Bucky.

“Why?” he asks, leaning forward to look at the screen.

“It’s just… firstly, you’d have to understand _a lot_  of internet humour to know what the hell is going on sometimes,” you explain, scrolling through your news feed. “I get it just fine. But I don’t know if you’d wanna hear me go on forever about memes.”

“Me–“

“Don’t even ask,” you stop him, putting up your hand. “For now, lemme just get through the apps.” He blinks in surprise, but remains silent and let’s you continue.

“On here, you ‘tweet’. Basically it’s like updating your status on Facebook, but much wilder. You can use hashtags too. There’s ‘trending topics’ that hashtags are primarily used for. They let you know what’s going on around the world or in a certain country. This is the search icon, your notifications, and direct messages. When you swipe left, you can go to your profile and settings. You can post whatever you want, but be warned of some triggering stuff too. The last thing you want to see is a neo-Nazi on your feed.”

Bucky turns completely serious, and sits back in the couch, staring at you in shock. He’s frowning deeply, and his hands clench and unclench.

“What’re you talking about?”

You’ve never heard him sound so serious before. It’s kind of unnerving, but you’re not about to tell him that. He’s had enough of people telling him how dangerous he looks. Sighing, you lean back into the couch too and shake your head.

“Believe it or not, there are still Nazis out there,” you say. “Not exactly like Nazi Germany, but they come pretty damn close. There’s… HYDRA still, but even regular people act so terribly because they have beliefs like Hitler. Anti-Semitists, homophobes, misogynists, racists, xenophobes… it’s disgusting.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Bucky shakes his head, thinking that all he fought for was a lost cause. That he wasted his years as a soldier, fighting for freedom, when in the end, nothing would change. He sighs and closes his eyes, fighting back the urge to punch something. When you notice him tensing up, you change the direction of the conversation.

“But there were also huge victories,” you say. He opens his eyes. “The Civil Rights Movement, breaking down the Berlin Wall, the feminist movement, gay rights movement, legalizing abortion, the invention of the internet… there’s a lot of amazing things that have happened since World War two ended. There’s still a lot of improvements to be made, but we’re getting there. And it’s always something to celebrate.”

Bucky turns his head to you, his eyes drifting downwards before finding your face again. He smiles softly. He’s sure you’ll give him the rundown of all those things after he gets past the technology part; plus, he thinks you’re just trying to calm him down from hearing that his enemies, past and present, are still roaming the earth. He shoves those thoughts to the back of his mind and clears his throat.

“Uhhh. So the, um. Tweeting?”

“Twitter,” you smile widely. You look down at your phone and close the app, then open Instagram. “That’s basically it for Twitter. This is Instagram.” You turn your phone towards him again. “It’s a photo-sharing site. You upload photos of almost anything. There’s guidelines for things you can’t post, like any other kind of social media platforms. Again, this is the home page, the search icon, adding a new photo, notifications, and profile. These bubbles up here with people’s faces in them are their stories. It’s something that all your followers will see. You can also do live videos, like Facebook, but they just copied SnapChat.”

“SnapChat?”

You give him a smug look, but he just raises a brow at you. You pat his thigh, and knowingly shake your head.

“Oh, Bucky,” you say. “This is one of my personal favourites.”

He eyes your hand on his thigh. He doesn’t mind; he’s just not used to people delicately touching him or showing him… affection? You’re touching him so gently, so he’s gonna count this as affection. You open your SnapChat, lean to the side, and tell Bucky to look at you. You tap on his face, and choose the filter that makes your eyes and lips huge. You laugh as you take the picture, then turn your phone around to show him. He blinks in disbelief, leaning his head forward to further examine his photo.

“That’s not what I look like!” he shouts, taking the phone from your hands.

“I know it’s not!” you laugh, shuffling closer to look at it with him. “It’s a filter, Bucky. It changes your face.”

“To look like  _that_?” he questions, trying to zoom in like you showed him earlier.

“More or less,” you say. You take your phone back, and swipe left. “There’s also colour filters after you’ve taken the photo. And sometimes when you’re in a certain city, they’ll have their own personal filters. Aaaaand… looks like Tony has one of his own.”

There’s a border of little Iron Man faces surrounding Bucky’s picture. He doesn’t like it very much, so he reaches over and swipes right again. You snort, and settle on no extra filter. You save the photo to your Memories, and delete the picture.

“What’s the point of this app, then?”

“It’s a photo messaging app. So, I take a picture of me or whatever I want, and then I send it to someone on my friend’s list. You can also send a snap to your story, and it can be seen by your friends list. They last for twenty-four hours, depending on the time you took them.”

He makes a face that still says “what’s-the-point-of-this-app”, so you enlighten him.

“Trust me,” you say. “It’s a lot more fun than it looks. It’s one of my favourite things to use.”

“If you say so,” he snorts. You just give him a smile and move on with your lesson.

“Let’s see. Oh yeah! YouTube. It’s a search engine for videos. You can find almost anything on there when it comes to videos. Past events, songs, webcasts, concerts, movies. You could be on there for hours and never get enough of–Oh. My. God. Speaking of videos, I have to show you this.”

Going a little off track, you open your Tumblr app (you decide not to show him that one because it’s a shitshow sometimes), then go to your favourites where you keep all your vine compilations. You sit up a little more to face Bucky head-on, and turn serious for a moment. Though your smile gives it away.

“Vine is one of the best things to happen, okay?” you start. “Like. You cannot get better than this when it comes to entertainment. A six-second video on loop will make your day.”

Clearly, he doesn’t understand how and why something as short as six seconds could make your day, but he’s certainly about to find out. You show him your most recently liked video, handing him your phone, and side-eye him to see which ones he finds funny.

For the first minute or so, he’s either confused, or blatantly surprised. You cover your mouth to keep yourself from laughing when there’s dicks involved. He really reacts to the guy slipping on a banana peel to see if it’s actually slippery like in the cartoons.

“Oh, god,” Bucky says, covering his mouth. “Is he okay?”

“I-I think so,” you choke out, trying to keep yourself from bursting out laughing. Other than that particular vine, Bucky doesn’t react much. He smiles at the little boy that gets excited about an avocado he got for Christmas, raises his eyebrows at the guy who throws his phone because Flappy Bird is challenging, and nods along when people ask what the weather’s like for outside seating when they came in from the outside.

He hands you back your phone, and you close all your apps. He takes a minute to get his thoughts together.

“That was… interesting,” he concludes.

“There’s a lot more where that came from,” you say. “However. I haven’t showed you one of the most important things ever created. The internet.”

Opening your safari app, you type in “google”. The Google search engine comes up, and you scooch closer to him to show him how it works. Your heart beats excitedly in your chest from being so close to him.

“Google is a search engine,” you say. “Anything you want to know, you can find. And don’t let anyone try to tell you that Bing is better. Because it’s not.” You think about what to search; something safe, and something that won’t trigger anything inside him. That’s the last thing you want to do. Shrugging your shoulders, you type in “types of flowers”. In less than a second, multiple links come up. Bucky squints at the screen.

“Wanna know what kinds of flowers there are? You can search it. Wanna know the meanings of certain flowers? You can do that too. Wanna learn about hanakotoba, the language of flowers, from Japan? No doubt Google will have it. Song lyrics, world events, celebrity gossip, types of cars, medical terms, kinds of animals; the internet has it all. But the number one thing that you must remember, is that not everything on the internet is true. It’s sort of easy to tell when something isn’t accurate, but you never know. And watch out for virus’. They’re a nasty way of getting into your computer and screwing everything up. And possibly stealing personal information and locating you. They’re easy to spot, though. I’ll show you those so you never have to deal with that. But if you ever get confused about anything, just come ask one of us and we’ll clear it up.”

Bucky blows his lips after taking in all this new technological information. He doesn’t know if he’d ever use the apps you showed him, but the internet certainly sounds captivating. Anything he wants to know, anything at all, he can look it up? Just like that? It sounds too good to be true. He looks over at you fiddling with your phone now, wondering how lame he’ll sound if he just says “thanks”.

“Thanks for this… lesson,” he says. Wow. Double lame.

“You’re very welcome,” you grin. “But I don’t want to stop there, if that’s okay.”

“Sure,” he says without missing a beat. Despite having mixed opinions on today’s technology, it’s funny to him to see you talk about something that excites you. He wishes he could do that more often. You struggle as you try to stand up, pushing your hands into the couch to force yourself up, but you end up losing your balance and sitting again. Bucky stands up and offers you his hand.

“Thanks,” you say, squeezing his flesh hand to pull yourself up. You grab your crutches next and lead the way to your room. You push the door open with the bottom of your crutch and walk over to your desk. Leaning over the glass, you open the lid of your laptop and type in your password. Once it’s unlocked, you leave your crutches against the wall and hop over to your bed and sit down, mindful of your right leg’s position. You pat the seat beside you, inviting Bucky to sit with you. He obliges, sitting on your left again.

“Another thing that’s changed–or rather, evolved–is photography,” you start, opening Google chrome. “You probably already knew that, but I like to make comparisons.” In the images tab, you search “old photography”, and up pops hundreds of black and white and sepia toned photographs.

“There’s an obvious difference. The posing, lighting, style, the quality. Reminds you of the old days, doesn’t it?”

“…Yeah.”

Bucky stares intensely at the photos, his eyes wandering all over the place as you scroll further down the page. He noticed some words at the top of the page, and asks you to go all the way back up.

“What’re those?” he asks, pointing to the coloured words.

“They’re suggestions based on your search,” you say. “Just an extra little something in case you want to pair something with your original search.” One of the suggestions says New York City. Giving Bucky a quick glance, you click on it. Multiple images of Times Square come up, along with the skyline and little boys in their Sunday best.

_I wonder if he had to dress like that at one point._

Bucky’s expression softens as he looks at the images. Though he was born in Indiana, he has fond memories of him and Steve in New York City. Bits and fragments floating around in his head, wondering if he’ll ever piece them back together. One thing for sure he remembers: he used to save Steve’s ass a lot.

You remove the New York City tag, and instead search “times square 1945”. V-E Day. The very first image is the infamous photo of the sailor kissing a woman in the middle of the street. A sad smile appears on Bucky’s face.

“This was on May 8 in 1945. Victory over Europe day,” you say gently. “When the Allies accepted Nazi Germany’s unconditional surrender. On August 15, the Japan Empire surrendered which ended the whole war.”

Originally, you wanted to show the difference between photography back then and now, using your own photos, but Bucky seems so immersed in the past that you leave him be for a bit. You set your computer in his lap.

“Here. Have a look.”

He nods, and hovers his fingers over the trackpad, and scrolls down using two fingers like you did to look at more photos. You sit back until you hit the wall, and watch Bucky fondly delve into the past. He didn’t get to see that day. He didn’t get to be sent home, nor celebrate with his fellow comrades, the Hollowing Commandos. He’s missed out on so much, but that’s why you’re getting him back in the groove of things. To help him catch up and learn about the world that passed him by during his time as the Winter Soldier. Thankfully, those days are way behind him, so he has nothing to worry about. And you damn well hope that Vision taking away his trigger words stays out of Bucky’s mind. It’s gone smoothly, and you still can’t remember what Vision took away from you first. Vision is close to being perfect in design, so you pray his abilities are permanent.

So far so good.

After a few minutes of silent scrolling, Bucky hands you your laptop back. You set it down beside you and stare at the side of his face. He’s pulling his lips to the side, and bouncing his knee. As he rubs his hands together, you shuffle forward again. You contemplate about rubbing his back, but you opt to keep your hands to yourself. This time, at least.

“You okay?”

He separates his hands, and shrugs as if to say “I-don’t-know”. Very understandable. He didn’t get to be a part of all these celebrations and move on with life like everyone else did back then. Instead, he got pulled into the deepest circles of hell that is HYDRA. Beaten, broken, and used, he crawled his way out to his redemption, all because of Steve. He was Steve’s anchor during the war, but now the roles are reversed. Steve is everything he has in keeping him grounded. He’s still learning to accept new people into his life, like you, but he’s keeping his walls up and heavily guarded. He’s not ready to let himself go yet.

“I’ll be alright,” he answers, gazing at you. You gaze right back, staring at his incredible blue eyes. The only other time you’ve been this close to him was when you were fixing his face after his fight with Sam. But even then you weren’t able to gawk at him like you are right now. The light coming in from the window illuminates his face in just the right places. His stubble could easily be a beard by now from how thick it is. The crinkles around his eyes show his age, probably just shy of thirty biologically. His hair falls over his face in the most perfect way, and his lips… you can’t even begin to describe how amazing they look when he’s not smiling nor frowning. You can’t let this opportunity get away.

“Stay as still as you can,” you whisper.

“Why?” he whispers back.

You don’t give him an answer. You gingerly stand up to go get your camera. You pull the body out of your bag and attach a 50mm, a perfect lens for up-close portrait shots. You turn it on as you sit back down on your bed, and change the settings accordingly before bringing the camera to your face.

“Stay still, Bucky,” you ask quietly. “And look at me.”

You put the focus point on his eye for absolute sharpness. You half-press the shutter before capturing the moment completely. You smile tenderly when you lower the camera from your face. Bucky’s eyes trail to the unknown object in your hands.

“What’s that?”

“A camera. Specifically, a dSLR, but ‘camera’ works just fine.” You shuffle back next to him and show him the photo you just took of him.

_Absolutely stunning._

It seems you’ll be receiving the same reaction from him every time you show him something he’s never seen before: complete surprise.

“A little different from what you guys used back in the day, isn’t it?” you smile, zooming in on his face. He raises his eyebrows.

“Totally,” he whispers, watching you zoom in on different parts of his face.

“I can capture something instantaneously, change the colour scheme, change the focus, zoom in and out, look at the photos I just took… there’s a mountain of things you can do with a camera now.”

“Mm.”

He can’t get over the fact that  _that’s_  what his face looks like in a photo now. It’s so clear, the background is blurred out, and the sole focus is him himself. You notice he hasn’t taken his eyes away from it. You smile slyly.

“Lemme show you something.”

You turn off your camera and eject the memory card, then slip it into the side of your laptop. A folder for the card pops up, and you open it, then scroll all the way to the bottom to enlarge the photo you took of Bucky. You let him look at it on the bigger screen, and laugh when you see how dumbfounded he is.

“This is…” He can’t even finish his thought. He’s so impressed by the technology that he can’t say anything else.

“If this is the reaction I get when I show you  _that_ ,” you start, minimizing the photo and opening Photoshop, “then you’re gonna love  _this_.”

You open up the image in Photoshop, and do a basic edit. You create a new layer to get rid of background distractions, like the corner of your desk and the side of your dresser. After that, another layer for a curves adjustment and contrast to give the photo a little more punch. You crop it to 11 x 14, then change the colour scheme to black and white. You don’t even need to erase any blemishes on Bucky’s face; he doesn’t have any. You sharpen the photo, then simply save it as “Bucky” to your desktop. You pull up the two photos to show the difference.

“That’s… amazing,” he says softly, flicking his eyes left and right to see the difference.

“Th–“

“You’re amazing.”

You’re left with your mouth gaping when he smoothly adds that in. You blush and look away, finding the floor a lot more interesting.

“It’s nothing, really,” you say, embarrassed.

“The smallest things can have the biggest impact, _______,” he counters.

Your heartbeat quickens when he tags your name at the end of a sentence like that. It’s such a simple compliment and phrase, and you’d accept it without hesitating from anybody else. But it’s a whole other story when it’s coming from Bucky. Of course,  _of course_  you’d crush on the most beautiful man in the world. Steve is way up there too, maybe even tied for first, but all of your tastes tie into Bucky’s entire being. He’s not the same suave, charming, Sergeant Barnes from the 107th infantry regiment anymore; nor is he the merciless Winter Soldier. He’s a mix of the two, even as he tries to push the most corrupt parts of him away. Despite all that, you can’t help but love his little eccentricities.

“What else can you do with this?” he asks, nodding at the screen.

“Oh! Um.” You pause to bring up your own photos again. “Anything, really. It’s used a lot to edit portraits, food, sports, and all that. But there’s also movie posters, movies themselves, and even drawing.”

You pull up a picture you took during the fall of a woman wearing a fancy, red dress made with red and yellow leaves decorating the bottom and boddess. The sun shines right behind her head, giving the photo a heavenly glow. A leaf crown also adorns her head, and in her hands she’s cradling a lotus flower.

“It’s pretty,” Bucky says.

“You think?”

“Yeah.”

“I made this.”

“What?”

“I made this.”

You select the original and edited photo, press the space bar, and go full-screen. You watch Bucky’s reaction again when you go left and right, showing him the major differences and effort that went into making the photo. Surprise, surprise (but not really). He’s flabbergasted. You turn the laptop towards him, and let him compare the photos.

In the original photo, the woman was wearing nothing but a plain red dress, holding a pink lotus flower. The lighting is a little dark and dull, and there’s little distractions on the ground he hadn’t noticed, like a stump, some acorns, and camera spots. Skipping to the edited photo, he notices the drastic difference in brightness. The sunlight is honey-coloured instead of white, the woman’s face is smooth, the flower crown is flawless, and the lotus flower is slightly larger. The overall work of the dress is impeccable, and he definitely wouldn’t be able to tell if it was fake or real.

“I… how do you do this?” he asks.

“With lots of long hours of practice,” you reply. “It’s not often that I take on major edits like this. So if the client is willing to pay for it, then I’ll do it.”

“What happens when you don’t want to do it?”

“I refer them to an expert editor, which happens to be a friend of mine. He has his own team, and they take on projects like this one.”

“You’re pretty talented people, being able to do things like this.”

“W-Well it’s part of our business, so we’d need to hire the best there is…”

“Can you show me more?”

“Uh. Yeah, sure.”

You didn’t think Bucky would take such an interest in this. Being shown the progression of photography maybe, but wanting to see more of your work? It feels intimate, because this is your own personal work that none of the team has seen. Some of your work has been posted to the company’s website with a credit, but you have no website of your own to share what you’re capable of. A lot of your photographs haven’t been seen by the public, and you’re a little bit worried about what Bucky may think. Times may have changed, but he still has his own opinions. It’s naïve to think that he’d give a full criticism about your work, but if he says something even slightly negative, you’re going to carry it around with you. And why? Well it’s obvious.

You like him. And when anything the person you like says something that’s not optimistic, then it’s going to drag you down because their opinion is so valid to you.

Clenching your jaw, you force those thoughts away and instead pull up a slideshow of a family of five (including their border collie) that you made for them. You make it full-screen and play the video for him. You explain that day as the instrumental music plays in the background.

“I was ambivalent about this one,” you start, planting your hands on either side of your hips. You lean back and pull your lips to the side. “I don’t usually work with pets because they’re harder to control. But their dog was pretty tame. Didn’t bark, followed commands. The only thing I had to worry about was getting the right shots. It was sunny, thank god. Makes my life shooting outdoors that much easier. Their two kids got past the stage of screaming and whining about getting their photo taken. This family was a blessing when it comes to stuff like that, lemme tell ya. They were so chatty and loved to play around with their kids. It made for a great day and photoshoot.”

For the whole of the slideshow, Bucky’s smiling warmly. He remembers seeing mothers dragging their little boys around on the streets of New York, making sure they don’t get lost in the crowd. Fathers carrying their daughters around on their shoulders, groups of friends hoop rolling down the sidewalks, and, of course, adults relentlessly chasing down their dogs that managed to escape their leashes. It makes Bucky laugh as he watches your photos come in and out of view. You’re not even watching the video anymore; you’re staring at Bucky again.

He carries his own presence; he can make heads turn when he walks into a room (hopefully more for good reasons than bad). One little smile and your day is instantly brightened. The sound of his voice is so smooth, it’ll make all of your fears disappear. Bucky Barnes. A person to be protected. You look down and continue to fantasize about him.

While you dozed off into fantasy land, Bucky had looked away from the screen to admire you instead. He gazed at your features, trailing his eyes from your eyes, to the tip of your nose, to your lips. He stared at the bandages around your leg, and how you would clench the sheets while you’re deep in thought (daydreaming about him). It wasn’t exactly a requirement for him to know how to read people when he was the Winter Soldier, since his sole purpose was to kill without being seen. But he knows enough to recognize when someone is hiding something, or when they’re being timid. From what he’s seen so far, he inferences that you’re trying to shy away from this situation to calm yourself down. Why? He doesn’t know yet. But he’ll do his best to make you feel comfortable.

When you finally raise your head and see that Bucky’s holding his gaze with you, you quickly flit your eyes to the screen and rub the back of your neck. The slideshow has already ended.

“Oh.”

You sit up and exit out of the window, and absentmindedly scroll through your many sessions with clients.

“Sooo. Yeah. That was that.”

Bucky breaks himself out of his stupor and comes back down to earth, clearing his throat and straightening his posture.

“That was great, _______,” he says, nodding his head while smiling.

“Thanks,” you say. You stop scrolling, your fingers hovering over the trackpad. Your bite your cheek and furrow your brows intensely. Licking your lips, you cock your head to the side and debate whether or not to ask Bucky for more photos of him. He let you take one, probably to be polite, but asking him a second time? You don’t know if he’d be comfortable with that. You know how he shields his left arm from everyone. He’s sat on your left side twice now, away from his metal arm. If he’s so insecure about it, he may say no if you ask.

But you give it a go anyway.

Ejecting your memory card safely, you put it back into your camera and turn it on. You close your laptop and shove it off to the side. You tap your finger on the shutter button, and glance up at Bucky.

“Would it be all right if I took more pictures of you?” you ask, slightly hesitant. His eyes go to the floor to give it a quick consideration. He hopes the photos would only be for your viewing, because god knows Steve wouldn’t stop rambling on about it if you ever showed him. He has enough trust in you to know you wouldn’t publish the pictures to show the entire world where they can find the Winter Soldier. Other than pure enjoyment, he doesn’t see why not. But he needs to make sure.

“They would be… kept in private, I hope?”

“Of course,” you reply. “These photos won’t be going anywhere.”

“Then it’s okay.”

Smiling widely, you raise your camera, and start taking pictures.

* * *

Another hour later, and you’re a smiling, giggling mess. You didn’t know having a mini-photoshoot with Bucky would be so energizing. He’s been a good sport about it the entire time, and you even had him laughing at some parts. You wanted him to just be himself while you suggested poses for him to do. Obviously he’s not used to it because he was pretty stiff, but you managed to loosen him up by using your usual relaxing techniques. Your leg would be a bother, shooting out stinging pain; but you would ignore it, because the pain was worth to see Bucky have a good time.

It felt ten times more intimate, however, when you took macro photos of his metal arm. You hate to admit it, but the craftsmanship is unbelievable. Watching the plates shift into place, the soft whirring, the tiny details; it’s a beautiful piece of work. Though Bucky might not think so, you’ll make damn well sure that he knows that you don’t care. You recognize the horrors he’s done and been through, but that doesn’t mean he has to go through it again. His arm will be used to protect instead of assassination.

“You take a good picture, Bucky,” you tell him as you go through the photos on the camera. “You don’t even need to try.”

He smiles and looks down at the floor, licking his lips. You notice he does that a lot when you compliment him: divert his gaze somewhere else, accompanied by a tick. Licking his lips, biting them, fiddling with his fingers. He would do all this before murmuring a small “thank you”.

_What a sweetheart._

You plug your memory card back in your laptop to show him. You select all the images and press the spacebar, then press the play button. There’s quite a few of them, well over a hundred, so you hand your laptop to him and go to the bathroom. It’s painful, sitting down then standing back up, but you power through it, and manage to come back out without the stitches ripping open. When you look up, you snort.

“Comfortable?”

Bucky’s sprawled himself out on your bed, your laptop sitting on his lap, his metal arm behind his head. He looks up at you when you hover over him.

“Oh. Sorry,” he chuckles, sitting up again.

“It’s okay,” you say. “I was just gonna get something to eat. I’m starving. Wanna come?”

“Sure.”

He remembers how to stop the slideshow, so he does that then closes the lid before following you out of your room and to the kitchen. You don’t know what you can have to eat, since Dr. Markson said you can’t take solid foods yet. But you don’t want to just keep eating pudding and soup. Surely there’s an in-between. You sift through the cupboards, pushing things around to see what you can have. You leave your crutches against the counter and just hop along the length of the counter, searching for some lunch.

“Ah ha ha!”

You notice some noodles on the second shelf and grab a pack, then use one of your crutches to open a drawer to get a pot. You see Bucky is sitting at the island, silently watching you work your way around the kitchen.

“Want some?” you ask. He shakes his head no. “You sure? I can make you something else if–”

“Really, _______, I’m fine.”

“If you say so.”

Ten minutes later, your noodles are boiled to perfection, and eating them standing up across the island from Bucky. You eat them in silence, and notice Bucky smiling at you amusingly as you slurp them up. It doesn’t feel awkward at all. You’ve been with him since your rehab session ended, so when you have nothing to say, it isn’t as suffocating. Halfway through your meal, you can hear the elevator ding to this floor. You lean to the side to see who it is. Lo and behold, it’s Tony and Dr. Markson.

_Oh boy._

You keep your head down as they chat their way into the kitchen. They both give you warm smiles, and nod at Bucky. Bucky nods back, but doesn’t say anything. He knows they’re not here for him.

“_______,” Dr. Markson greets you. He sees the lunch you’re eating, and refrains from commenting. However, you notice his look of disdain and make a comment of your own.

“Technically not a solid food,” you say. “It’s stringy and easy to swallow whole. It’s okay, right?”

“Well–“

“I guess it doesn’t really matter since I’m eating it anyway.”

You scoop another forkful into your mouth and grin at the pair of them. Tony raises a brow as he eats his chocolate covered raisins.

“Still disobeying orders, I see.”

“Still a senile old man, I see.”

Tony scoffs at your remark and plops another raisin in his mouth. He rounds the island and trails his eyes down at your leg.

“How’s that doin’, champ?” he asks, leaning against the counter.

“Fine,” you reply, shoving more noodles in your mouth. “It sucks trying to sit down and stand up again. Or try to put pressure on it. But I can manage.”

“Good to hear it. Markson has somethin’ for ya.”

You look at him, and see him carrying a plastic bag. He sets it on the island and explains what’s inside it.

“Inside are your painkillers,” he says. “Take one every eight hours, everyday, until you run out. When you’re finished, come to me and I’ll evaluate if you need more. There’s some other medical supplies in here as well. Also.” He pulls out two different pieces of paper from the bag and lays them out. “One is how to clean and dry your wound when you shower, the other is for changing the bandages. It has healed enough that you can continue taking them. We gave you a sponge bath while you were incapacitated, but you should–“

“Oh. My god.”

You drop your fork dramatically and slam your hands on the island. You purse your lips in anger–and embarrassment–and glare at Dr. Markson. Given, it’s nice that you’re not completely gross, having not showered properly in so long, but to be given a sponge bath while unconscious? It’s just gross and violating. And having  _Bucky_  hear that is just… you could kill someone right now, you’re so humiliated.

“Anything else you wish to disclose?” you grit through your teeth.

“You should shower with some plastic covering your bandages so they don’t get wet. And elevate your leg if there’s any swelling.”

“Great. Alright. Awesome. You can go now.”

“Miss _______, you sh–“

“Nope! I don’t wanna hear it. Thanks for the drugs and cleaning instructions. If something happens I’ll come find you. Goodbye.”

“Come on, kid. Li–“

“Don’t ‘come on, kid’, me, Tony. You can leave too. Hi, hello, goodbye. I’m fine. Enjoy your day.”

“Hon–“

“I said enjoy your day!”

Tony backs off, but smirks, knowing that you’re feeling better, and embarrassed. He stands up straight and walks off with Dr. Markson again, throwing a glance over his shoulder. He’s still not used to Bucky’s presence, clearly. He doesn’t care, though; as long as you’re okay. When you and Bucky are left alone again, you smack your lips together and discard your dishes in the sink.

“Well I certainly didn’t need to hear that,” you say after a moment of silence, grabbing a glass of water. You take one of the painkillers, then shove your instruction sheets in your short’s pockets. You stare at Bucky, wondering what to do.

“Wanna watch some Netflix?” you offer. You know he’s about to ask what that is, so you answer him before he even opens his mouth. “You can stream TV shows and movies. Pretty useful for when you’re bored and have nothing to do.”

“Sure,” he nods.

“Great.”

You scurry over to the living room, and Bucky helps you sit down and elevate your leg.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

You get it set up, enter your account, and start scrolling through your list. You wonder how long Bucky has gone without seeing a movie. Probably since 1944, so he most likely has no idea how much the movie industry has evolved. Or special effects. You don’t know what he’d like, since all movies from his time were in black and white, and a lot of the actors are dead. You hand the remote to him, and let him choose.

“You can scroll over an option and read the description,” you say. “If you think it’ll be good, then press play.” He looks from the remote, to the TV, to you, a little unsure of himself.

“You sure?” he asks, already scrolling through the movies.

“Mhmm,” you hum. “I’ve seen most of them, and they’re pretty good in my opinion. Then again, I usually like every movie I watch.”

After some consideration, Bucky chooses  _The Revenant_. Netflix’s synopsis’ sound like a shitpost sometimes, but they give a good summary anyway. For  _The Revenant_ , the summary is “This father will do anything to claim his just revenge; even come back alive from an icy grave”. Short and sweet, but to the point. This time, Bucky sits on your right, giving you a clear view of his metal arm. Relaxing into the couch, you wrap a blanket around yourself, and quietly watch the movie with Bucky.

* * *

Usually, Bucky would have shifted away from anyone that got too close to his metal arm. He didn’t know if it would ever go haywire on its own, or if HYDRA secretly added a component that would make his arm controllable from anywhere in the world and given its members access to it. Nothing’s happened since he got out of cryo, but he’s still on the defensive about it. He doesn’t want anyone to get hurt unintentionally because of him. So far so good, but he still worries.

An hour into the movie, he notices you nodding off a few times. He shifted a few inches away before, keeping his metal arm close to him, but now, he places it in the space between you in case you fall over. Or if you want to lean on him. He hasn’t experienced affectionate interaction in a very, very long time. Sure, Steve makes time for him and gives him supportive hugs and talks, but it’s in Steve’s nature. All of his goodness got amplified to a hundred after the serum, so now he’s the world’s most protective man (and sometimes reckless). It’s also a positive reminder for Bucky that Steve will always be around to pick him off the ground when he’s at his worst. Bucky thanks all the gods for Steve, but sometimes, it’s just not what he wants. He’s known his best friend all his life, but now, he wants to connect more with new people. Like you.

Right from the get-go, he’s called you “doll”. He remembers it as an endearing term for an attractive woman. He’s seen plenty of pretty girls in his life, and he knows one when he sees one. He didn’t know why he just had to say it when he spoke with you on the plane ride to the compound, but he couldn’t help himself. His mind must’ve triggered a time when he would throw the word around like the swaggy man he was, and out it came. You seem to have taking a liking to it, since you haven’t protested against him using it in any way.

The face of the modern-day woman has changed drastically over the past 70 years, but that doesn’t stop Bucky from knowing what he likes. It’s no use comparing last century’s women to today’s, since they’re all 100-years-old or dead. And he’s glad there’s someone like you that he gets to be around. You carry a whole other energy with you wherever you go. It’s so different than what he’s used to, but it’s a good different. The girls he used to know were so shy around him, and were quick to be enchanted by his charm. But you, on the other hand, are loud, rambunctious, and carefree. You can hold a conversation with him no problem, and you’re cautious to avoid sensitive topics, which he appreciates. You’re unpredictable at times, too; he would know. You chased after him, Steve, and Sam because none of them told you about the trick glass wall. Some days you would be reserved, other days you would be laughing until you cried. And that just happened to be one of Bucky’s favourite looks on you.

You curled up in a blanket with your eyes fluttering and fighting to stay open is another one.

Instead of pushing himself away, he moves closer to you, careful not to disturb you if you actually managed to fall asleep. He clasps his hands together in his lap, and leans forward a bit, trying to see if you’re awake or not.

You see him peering down at you, so you flick you eyes up to him, a wide grin spreading across your face.

“Don’t worry, I’m still awake,” you snicker.

He nods his head and quickly sits back against the couch, clearing his throat before regaining his attention on the movie. You smile at the fact that he just checked to see if you had dozed off in the middle of a movie.

_How thoughtful._

The remainder of the movie is spent in very comfortable silence, and you almost had the courage to lay your head against Bucky’s arm. Almost. It would’ve been uncomfortable anyway because your leg is resting on the coffee table and you would’ve put more strain on it than you’d like. Despite not being about to cuddle the hell out of Bucky, it was nice to spend time with him anyway. You sit up and stretch when the credits start rolling.

“What’d you think?” you ask, looking at him tiredly. He takes a second to get over how cute you look when you’re tired before answering.

“I liked it,” he replies. “Good storyline, amazing acting, beautiful scenery…”

“It’s certainly worthy of the Oscars it received for best director, best cinematography, and best actor,” you say. “I’m glad you liked it.”

You shift in your seat to lower your leg to the ground, then ask Bucky for help again to stand up. You grab your crutches, and slowly bend your knee to reduce some of the tension that built up from being in a horizontal position for so long. You go to the kitchen again, and beckon Bucky to come along.

“I’m gonna try and shower,” you tell him. “Would you mind wrapping my leg in plastic wrap?”

He nods, searching for some cellophane in the drawers. You point to the right one, then tell him where the scissors are. You take a seat by the island, and slowly raise your leg onto another chair. Bucky takes the roll out of the cardboard box, and starts wrapping it around your bandages.

“A few layers should be good,” you tell him. “But not too tight.”

He nods again, carefully maneuvering his hands around your leg. You stare at your leg instead of his face because he’s so close again; you don’t want to be obvious about it. When he’s finished, he makes the cut, and you stuff the end into the top. He helps lower your leg, and you stretch to see how it feels.

“Should be fine,” you say. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You pick up your crutches again and go to your room to shower, leaving Bucky alone for thirty minutes. When you come back out, you feel like a new woman. Your hair is shiny and smells magnificent, your skin soft and smooth. Cleaning off eight days-worth of sweat, dirt, and grime is the most satisfying thing in the world. A sponge bath doesn’t cut it; scrubbing away the filth yourself is much more reassuring. You choose to wear a dress this time, as one layer is less troublesome. You pin some of your hair up and let it air-dry. No point in looking presentable if you’re not going anywhere. You take off the plastic wrap, and sigh in relief when you see your bandages didn’t get wet. When you come back out, you don’t see Bucky.

“Bucky?” you call. “You there?”

“Barnes went to one of the training rooms.”

You gasp for air at Natasha’s sudden surprise. You glower at her as she gives you a good-natured smirk. You cannot believe her sometimes.

“Thanks for that heart attack,” you say, gathering yourself.

“All part of the package,” she says.

“Well can I get my money back then?” you joke. “I don’t remember a daily heart attack being part of the deal.”

“I thought you would be used to my sneaking,” she smiles.

“Apparently not.”

You stride over to the fridge to get something else to eat, but after seeing the look on Dr. Markson’s face after he caught you eating noodles, you think better of it. Instead, you decide to make another smoothie. While you gather your fruit, Natasha has a seat by the island and speaks to you.

“How have you been with Barnes?” she asks. You stop what you’re doing, giving her a confused look.

_That’s a strange thing to ask._

“Okay, I guess?” you answer cautiously. “He’s been doing well.”

“And you?”

“I’ve been doing well too.”

“I see.”

You give Natasha the side-eye as you reach in the cupboard for the blender. She looks back, a sly smile on her face. She doesn’t say anything else; not until you have the fruit and ice already in the blender.

“You need some flirting lessons.”

You don’t even hear her from the blender being so loud. You stop after thirty seconds to see how well it’s been mixed in. Natasha takes the opportunity to ask again, since you didn’t hear her the first time.

“I think you need some–“

You start the blender again, cutting her off for a second time. She closes her mouth and sighs, waiting again for another opportunity. She’s grown to hold her patience. Something as small and insignificant as you making a smoothie is a walk in the park for her. Once you’re pouring the smoothie in your glass, she speaks up for a third time.

“I’m going to be giving you flirting lessons.”

You nearly drop the glass to the floor. She smiles at your reaction and sits up in her seat. Once you’ve collected yourself, you clear your throat and give her an incredulous look.

“What makes you think I need flirting lessons?” you scoff, taking a sip of your drink. She sees right past your faux confidence. You know as well as anyone that you need a tip or two here and there. Or maybe a whole rundown of the book. You limp over to the island and set your drink down, staring at the quartz.

“When do we start?” you ask quietly, avoiding her gaze.

“Right now, if you’d like,” she says, glad to have you on board without protesting.

“Um. Sure, I guess.”

“First rule of flirting,” she says, jumping right into it. “Never sound passive. It gives off the vibe that you’re susceptible to submission.”

You flick your eyes up to her, nodding in understanding. You keep sipping your smoothie as she speaks, but cut her off for a moment.

“Do I need to be writing this down or…?”

“If you think it would help, yes. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Okay. Gimme a sec.”

Trotting back to your room, you grab an empty notepad and pen, then return to Natasha. She’s moved over to the couch, so you take a seat next to her. You write down what she said about being passive, then look expectantly at her, waiting for her to continue.

“Keep eye-contact,” she says. “Always make sure their attention is on you. Sit with your body open. That means you cannot hold your arms, nor turn away from them. Back straight, chest out, and face towards them. You want them to know you’re interested. So you’ve got to show that you are.”

You haphazardly scribble everything down, nodding along, opting to just get her words and then go back to rewrite everything later in a more organized fashion.

“As you may know, men like to talk about themselves.” You roll your eyes at that. “Inflate their ego. It gets them talking. Move your eyes, as well. A lot can be said with the expression of your eyes. You asked your target to dance. Not a bad angle. Makes it easier for them to lower their guard and for you to take them elsewhere if need be.”

Natasha goes on and on about tips and tricks when it comes to flirting, especially phrases. That’s what you have trouble with the most. Sweet-talking is an art form all on its own, and you want– _need_ , to learn all about it. And what better way than from an expert themselves? It’s certainly one thing being taught, but it’s a whole other situation when you have to execute it in real life. Natasha gives you a solid “C” grade based on your performance on your first solo mission. You’re embarrassed and a little self-conscious at first, but the feeling passes because you know she’s spot on. And that’s exactly why she’s giving you this informative tutorial.

“Now, if you want to make an entire room come to a halt,” she explains, now onto a new topic, “it’s all based on how you carry yourself. Dressing up helps with the seduction. But your self-confidence will grab their attention. Stand tall. Lift your head, push your chest out, shoulders back, make precise, smooth movements. Trail your eyes through the entire room once, never looking at the same person twice. Go to your designated location, and let them come to you.”

_That seems like a vital piece of information._

You keep that piece of intelligence in mind in case you ever need to… impress someone. Natasha even gives some examples to help you grasp the material better. You really feel like you’re in school again. She uses herself, of course, and shows you her body language and facial expressions. You write it down in words, getting it as close as you can to what she’s showing you.

And all for free.

Your least favourite thing is when she asks you to show her what you’ve just learned. Now you  _really_  feel like this is school all over again. You’re nervous that you’ll mess up and just embarrass yourself even more. But you deem Natasha as sympathetic, so maybe she’ll give you a free slide and tone down her criticism.

She doesn’t.

Being the expert that she is, and that she cares about your well-being, she wants you to get this right for future missions that require you to seduce the target. And next time, hopefully, you’ll be spot on and will not hesitate to make a decision.

You practice with Natasha for almost two hours, and during that time, Wanda returned from her trip to the city, and joined in on the fun. To her, of course it’s fun. She has her own charm that can get her out of sticky situations. Though her power alone is enough. Natasha made you practice on Wanda, as well. That just made your heart beat faster. Flirting with a woman is completely different than flirting with a man. You just get even more tense and nervous. And those feelings double when the woman is attractive as Wanda.

Right as you’re in the middle of playing the cards with Wanda, Steve rounds the corner, sweaty from training. He starts when he sees what’s happening.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” he says, holding his hands out to shield his eyes. “Should I be seeing this?”

You burst out laughing when Steve doesn’t know how to react. You pull away from being so close to her to address Steve. You open your mouth to answer him, but then a funnier response comes to mind.

“People can be gay, Steve,” you say.  

He lowers his arms and almost looks afraid. You said it with such seriousness, and he doesn’t know if he’s just crossed a line.

“I-I, uh. I’m sorry, _______. I didn’t mean–“ You burst out laughing again at his reaction. He’s such a sweet man, never wanting to unintentionally hurt someone’s feelings or feel like he’s stepped into sensitive territory.

“It’s okay, Steve. I’m joking.”

He puts a hand on his heart and lets out a shaky laugh.

“You scared me for a second, _______,” he says, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.

“Sorry, sorry,” you apologize. “I just wanted to see what’d you’d do.”

He smiles fondly, and takes a few sips of his water before nodding towards you three.

“What’ve you guys been up to?” he asks. “Really?”

“I was teaching _______ how to successfully seduce a target into obedience,” Natasha answers proudly. “Despite her naïve way of thinking and inexperience, she’s doing alright for herself.”

Steve’s smile only grows, so much that he can’t even drink his water.

“What’re you smiling about?” you ask, smiling yourself.

“Nothing,” he replies, standing behind the couch. “Just glad to see that my suggestions are being considered and implemented.”

“Steeeve,” you whine, covering your face. He just shrugs his shoulders and wishes you the best before taking his leave.

“He’s such a dork,” you snort.

“He is indeed,” Wanda agrees.

“But he’s also totally precious,” you add. “I love him so much.”

“He is a very good man,” Natasha pipes in. “He’s very admirable for all his work.”

“Got that right,” you agree.

Instead of continuing with the flirting lessons, you’ve moved the conversation to a new topic: Steve. Recalling what you read in the Smithsonian, the internet, and recent events when he did something funny. Complimenting his eyes, hair, new physique, his “good man” nature. There’s nothing bad you can say about Steve Rogers. He’s a total sweetheart to be around, and doesn’t shrug you off when you’re telling him about something that excites you. Of course, he also has his off days, wanting some time alone. And that’s something all of you do for each other. No matter how good of a day you’re having, when another teammate needs their space, you’re more than willing to stay out of their way.

But you’re always there if they need someone to talk to.

Soon enough, you’ve immersed yourself in an Avengers rant about the team. You already talked about Steve, but you add in a few more bits, speaking very highly of him. Next was Tony.

“Okay, despite his arrogant attitude and narcissism,” you begin, “he’s funny, caring, and always willing to put his life on the line for the ones he loves. I mean, when I first saw him as Iron Man, I thought it was amazing. Creating something like that is unbelievable, and shutting down his company was something I’d never thought he’d do. Yeah, I thought he was selfish a while after that, because whenever I saw the footage, he had an essence of egotism. Only fighting for himself. But fighting alongside him made all the difference. He tries to right his wrongs, sometimes being a little too extreme, but all that matters it that he cares.”

After him, Sam.

“Sam is such a treasure. Basically he’s similar to Steve with his boyish behaviour and protective tendencies. But since he’s of this century, it’s easier to talk to him about current events and connect with each other. He’s a total gem when it comes to cheering people up, and when you need a friend instead of a teammate. He’s so agile when he’s using his Falcon wings. I’m so impressed by technology these days, and it’s such a privilege to own something incredible as that. He’s cautious, open-minded, and will not hesitate to cut a bitch if they trample on his friend’s feelings. He’s good like that.”

You make a face as you try to describe Vision.

“Vision’s a little harder to describe because he’s so transparent. He speaks his honest opinion, which I appreciate, but at times, it can get a little annoying. He’s basically perfect, in scientific terms, I guess. That gem in his forehead certainly is something else. Part Ultron and part J.A.R.V.I.S. Two minds in one is… unprecedented, I say. I mean, if anyone could do it, I believe that it’d be Tony. And the fact that he has a British accent is just so fricken hilarious. Did Tony do that on purpose? Or was it an added bonus? Anyway. Yeah. Vision is a character, alright. I’d never thought there’d be someone like him. We’re lucky to have him.”

Since Thor, Dr. Bruce Banner, and Clint Barton are not currently present, you make a brief statement about their heroics and from what you can guess about their personalities from what you’ve seen on the news and internet. You guess they’re very well-rounded men, and also extremely protective and secretive.

Natasha comes after.

“You, are a work of art, if I might say. I just… have you seen yourself? Like… Where have you been all my life? You’re the most ruthless, kickass woman I’ve ever met. I’ve never been so serious in my life. Self-defence, infiltration, gun handling, sweet-talking, hand-to-hand combat, gathering intel, collecting background information… you’re the complete package. I’ve never seen a woman more skilled than you are. You’re a great mentor, and never lie, especially when it comes to me when you’re trying to improve my own skills. You don’t sugarcoat things, and even if it hurts my feelings sometimes, I know you’re just trying to help. You’re also the type of attractive person that makes someone question their sexuality, so thanks for being the best person ever, on behalf of all us girls.”

Natasha smiles fondly as you gush about her. She knows you’re being genuine because of the way your eyes light up in excitement. She also knows that you know that she knows the only reason why she is the person that she is is because she was trained to be able to do everything you listed off. The other women in the Red Room were a makeshift family; but here, with the Avengers, she knows she has a place to be herself. She watches Wanda as you start to ramble on about her instead.

Finally, the best is saved for last.

“And you, Wanda. Wanda Wanda Wanda. You’re the cutest, most precious person I’ve ever met. You’re soft, funny, adorable, and an overall good person. Honestly, your power is one of my favourites. Telekinesis, telepathy,  _and_  energy manipulation? Is there anything you  _can’t_  do? You kick me on my ass pretty easily when we train together, but you still go easy on me, which, obviously, I appreciate. I try not to go too hard on you too, by the way. I don’t wanna burn your loveable face. And the way you show your power is so different than what I usually see on TV. Like, you can actually  _see_  your power, instead of everything being invisible. You use your hands at all times instead of just using your mind to do all the work. And I think it’s beneficial for you because you can see what you’re controlling, which also helps us. Let’s us know where  _not_  to be when you’re on attack mode. You’re completely ruthless, and you could step on me any day of the week and I’d say ‘thank you’. You’re such a great person to talk to about anything. You’re basically my sister, if you don’t mind me saying. Also! You’re the soft, bubbly, cute type of attractive. And again, I’d like to thank you on behalf of the girls in this world.”

Wanda’s smiling the whole time, and subtly avoiding eye-contact as she blushes towards the floor. It’s extremely refreshing to have someone tell her how valuable she is outside of her power. She finds that you’re always quick to give her a compliment about any aspect of herself when you’re together: her hair, her smile, her personality. She appreciates it immensely, and she’s extremely grateful to have you in her life.

You let out a huge sigh after rambling on about your friends and lay against the couch. You don’t know if you’ve ever spoken that much in one sitting before. You cover your face with your hands and shake your head.

“I am so sorry if I talked too much just now,” you apologize (Though you’re not really sorry). “I just got really excited.”

“It is not a problem,” Wanda answers, smiling widely. “It was nice to see you in such a state. Especially when you’re injured.”

“No kidding,” you agree. “I completely forgot I was crippled.”

Natasha turns towards you, supporting her cheek with her fist. She wears a smile that suggests that you left something out. You cock your head to the side when you look at her.

“What?” you laugh.

“You forgot someone,” she says.

“I couldn’t have,” you defend, counting on your fingers. “There was Steve, and Tony, and Vision and–“

“Barnes,” she cuts in. “You forgot to talk about him.”

You stop talking, now frozen in place in your seat. Why does she keep mentioning him? Does she just want to hear your honest opinion of him? Haven’t you done that already? You lower your hand and sigh, staring into your lap.

“There’s nothing to tell, really,” you say quietly.

“I think there is,” Wanda says, joining in on the fun. She’s dying to know as well. She may have not told you about the time she took the smallest look into your mind and saw Bucky. A lot. She purses her lips and waits for you to say something.

A small smile appears on your face, now unable to keep your mouth shut about him. You just know that they’ll keep pestering you about him, so you might as well say  _something_  to satisfy them.

Unbeknownst to any of you, Bucky is listening intently around the corner, already finished with his training. He feels like he shouldn’t be hearing this, but on the other hand, why the hell not? It’d be good for him to hear your honest opinion of him. He leans against the wall, and listens on quietly.

“He’s really great,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck. “He’s just… he’s been through a lot, y’know? From a small boy to a Sergeant in World War two to HYDRA’s bitch to something in-between. He can’t take back all that he’s done, and I just couldn’t stand the thought of him hating himself and blaming himself for everything that’s happened. So I thought I’d help him, because I wanted to. I know Steve would’ve definitely done it if he knew how. And so far, after Vision took away what needed to be erased, he’s been doing well. From what I’ve seen, anyway. What he does behind closed doors is for him alone. But when I’m with him he’s… calmer. I’ve told him many times that he can come to any of us if he’s having troubles with anything, but I think Steve is his only bet on that.”

You pause for a minute, and stare down at your lap, trying to think of what to say next. You don’t want to reveal anything to them about your feelings for him, so you need to tread carefully. Wanda, however, eggs you on for more.

“I know there’s more than that,” she says, smiling gently. “ _You_  know there’s more than that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say quickly, trying to wave her off. “I know there is. I just… there’s no one way to describe him, you know? He’s sweet and funny and caring. He can be dismissive and secretive, but that’s who he is. He just wants to live without worrying about if he’ll lose control again… He was so pure when I was teaching him about my phone. He wouldn’t need to use any of it, but it was a lot of fun watching his reactions and showing him modern technology. He’s probably seen it, but not really used it. Oh. My god. And when I’m teaching him, Steve, and Sam the dance? He’s the most compliant of the three. One time, when they finished their complaining, Bucky asked me to keep practicing with him. Which is weird, because I thought Sam would crack first, to be honest. Anyway, Bucky kept at it, and was so serious about it. I got a little fed up when he wouldn’t pay attention, but I was joking about it. It’s always nice to see him laugh. My favourite thing is when he smiles. It makes me happy when he’s smiling, but even more so when I’m making him smile. I’d do anything to keep seeing him like that.”

Wanda and Natasha look at each other knowingly, then peer down at you as you’re wrapped up in your own world.

“Oh, _______,” Natasha starts, smiling sweetly at you. “Sounds to me like you’re a serious love bug.”

“Hm? Oh, I guess so,” you shrug.

“I think so as well,” Wanda agrees. “You have much love to give. And we know exactly where you can put it.”

“A-And where do you think that is?” you ask hesitantly.

_Don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it don’t s–_

“Bucky,” they say in unison.

You sigh, knowing that they would go there. You wipe your hands down your face and lean your head back against the couch. You stare up at the ceiling, and without even thinking about it, you give them your answer.

“It’s already there.”

Behind the safety of the kitchen wall, Bucky’s eyes widen in shock. He never expected to hear words like that directed towards him again. Ever. Much less from you. He chews his bottom lip, wondering what the hell he’s going to do with this new information. His emotions towards you have been sifting through him, questioning what those emotions are. He’s very fond of you, having helped him and all, but there’s a lot more to it than that. His use of the word “doll”, the fact that second to Steve, he feels at home with you. You don’t judge him, and you make an effort to see him laugh and have a good time. It gets him through the day at times. And when he saw you stumble through the living room, bloody and bruised, he was worried sick. The initial reaction was because his friend got  _shot_ , then his mind shifted into the feeling of losing you. He panicked when you fell into his arms, afraid about what was happening to you. And now that he knows your true feelings for him… he’s not too sure what to feel. He hasn’t given himself time to process the emotions he has for you, but he sure as hell has the time now.

Backing away, he decides to retreat to the public showers downstairs to clear his head.

Meanwhile, Natasha and Wanda express their happiness at you  _finally_  admitting to them how you truly feel about Bucky. You smile along with them, but you yourself are still a little wary about it all. Is it love, or infatuation? It’d be important to find that out first before going to Wanda and Natasha to divulge their curiosity. It’s nearing dinnertime, so you interrupt their excited chatter to get something to eat. You stop yourself from opening the freezer, then call out to the F.R.I.D.A.Y.

“Yes, miss _______?”

“Is Dr. Markson around?”

“He is in the medical laboratory.”

“Can you ask him what I can eat for dinner?”

“Certainly.”

You tap the kitchen counter as you wait, your back to Wanda and Natasha. You’d rather them not see your face as you continue to have thoughts about your feelings for Bucky.

“Dr. Markson suggests rice and vegetables.”

“Perfect. Thanks.”

One of the easiest things to make, you immediately get to it, no matter how much of an inconvenience your crutches are. You haven’t read the instructions Dr. Markson gave you about binding your leg on your own yet, so you’ll do that when you go to bed. And also take another painkiller. You avoid Wanda’s and Natasha’s pestering questions about your confession, so you either shut them up completely, or offer another topic of discussion. They opt to make their own dinner as well, giving you the chance to eat in peace. That is, only if you were able to go to your room while holding a bowl on rice and vegetables and using your crutches at the same time. You end up eating in the kitchen, and make idle chatter with Wanda and Natasha.

You wonder where Bucky has been the past few hours. Maybe still in one of the training rooms, or out with Steve. Is he even allowed out in the city yet? Or maybe he’s on the second floor shooting billiard by himself. It’s something Steve would do, and already has, so perhaps Bucky would be into that sort of thing too. You’re so immersed in your thoughts about where he is that you don’t even notice him walk behind you three to go to his room. You only notice when Natasha says hi to him, but you only get the view of his back. You finish your dinner with a small smile on your face.

* * *

One thing that can be said about you and be 100% true is that you’re a night owl. You drag your night on just to stay up longer, and because you don’t want to go to bed so early. It’s a little eerie since you’re the only one up sometimes, but it’s nice to have a lot of time to yourself to think. It’s currently 11 p.m., and you’re sitting in the living room wrapped in a blanket, watching TV and rereading the instructions on how to change your bandages. It seems simple enough, and you’re sure you can do it yourself, but the thing is: you don’t want to. Why do it yourself when there are other perfectly capable human beings in the building to do it for you? And you’re not talking about the medical staff.

You slide to one end of the couch and put both your legs up, then lay the blanket over yourself. You stare at the TV for a few seconds before looking up at the ceiling. A short nap should energize you a bit. Taking the chance, you shuffle further into the couch, turn your head to the side, and close your eyes.

Turns out, it’s not a short nap.

You’re still snoozing away an hour and a half later, the room dark, the only source of light being the TV screen. You’ve done this many times before: falling asleep on the couch after closing your eyes for a few minutes. All you wanted was a quick ten minutes to freshen yourself up, but it always turns into a snooze fest. Some night owl you are.

And it looks like you’re not the only one.

Bucky comes striding out of his room wearing only grey sweats, and makes a beeline for the fridge. He’s dying for some water, and gulps down half of it in one go. He runs a hand through his hair and takes a few deep breaths. He leans over the sink, and splashes his face with some cold water. He’s found that this has been the most helpful after having a nightmare. It wakes him up, making it harder for him to fall asleep, and gives him the chance to think of excuses to give Steve when he asks why he looks so jaded.

After drying his face, he finally notices that the TV is still on. He takes sips of his water as he walks towards the living room, and is surprised to see you sleeping there. He sets his water down, and squints at you to see if you’re actually asleep. When you don’t correct him, he believes it’s his responsibility to bring you back to your bed. He kneels down in front of you, and gently shakes your shoulder.

“_______?” he whispers. “Wake up, _______.”

You make a pained expression, groaning and shifting around from being rudely awakened from your sleep. You don’t open your eyes, opting to just turn to the side and go back to sleep. Bucky sighs tiredly, but keeps trying.

“_______,” he says again. “Time to go to bed. Come on.”

Groaning louder, you agonizingly open your eyes and look over your shoulder to see who’s bothering you.

“Bucky?” you say, your voice hoarse. You blink a few times to get a clearer vision of him. “What’re you doing out here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he smiles. “Come on. Get up. I’m sure your bed is much comfier than this.”

“I don’t wanna get up,” you protest, pulling the blanket closer to your chest.

“_______,” he warns. “If you don’t get up, I’m gonna have to carry you back to bed.”

“Be my guest,” you yawn, believing he won’t do it. You hear his knees crack as he stands up. You think he’s about to just leave you there, but he carefully slides his hands under you and hoists you up in his arms.

“Bucky!” you gasp, clutching your leg. It doesn’t hurt much, but you’re still mindful of it.

“I told you I’d carry you,” he tells you, also picking up his water bottle as he heads to your room. Sighing in defeat, you let him do as he pleases. Besides, it’s kind of rewarding. Bucky gets to carry you, and you get to smell him. And touch his bare chest. The blanket got taken with you, so you get to stay warm when Bucky lays you down on your bed.

“Thanks,” you mumble drowsily.

“No problem,” he smiles, smoothing your hair down. You peek up at him for a few seconds, getting a fantastic view of his body. Once you’re settled in, he starts backing away. You groan in annoyance when you remember something.

“Bucky,” you call out. He stops and turns back at you. “I hate to sound selfish, but could you change my bandages for me, please? I’m too exhausted to do it myself.”

“Sure thing.”

He comes back instantly, and you carefully bend over your bed to grab the bag of medical gauze, instructions, and supplies Dr. Markson left for you. He sits on the edge of your bed and takes out a roll, then grabs the scissors as well. You unravel yourself from your blanket, sit up, then move over to give Bucky some room. You pull up the hem of your dress, then settle it between your legs. You yawn repeatedly as Bucky cuts the gauze already on your leg and when he starts wrapping it back up.

“Sorry ‘bout this,” you say, giving him an apologetic look. “I’m supposed to change it when I wake up and go to bed, but I didn’t think I’d fall asleep for that long.”

“It’s okay,” he says, his eyes trained on your thigh. “I was already up.”

“Oh. Well, still. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. This is looking a lot better, though.”

“Yeah, it is. Still a little gross looking, but the pain’s not as bad.”

“That’s good.”

“Mm.”

You fight to keep your eyes open this time, your head drooping along with your eyes every time you feel like you’re nodding off. Bucky notices and smiles, thinking about how adorable you are when you’re tired. When he’s done wrapping, he cuts off the end and lets it sit on your thigh. He gets the medical tape and wraps it around your leg twice, secure but not too tight. He gently pats your thigh when he’s finished, and gives you a fond smile.

“Thanks,” you mumble, swaying your leg side to side.

“You’re welcome,” he says. When you try to force yourself awake again, he takes notice of how dry your lips look. He hands you his water bottle and offers you some. You mutter another “thanks” and take two considerate gulps before giving it back to him and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You shake your head, now being even more selfish.

“Sorry, but could you do one more thing for me?” you ask.

“Sure,” he says.

“Can you grab me a shirt?” you request. “Any black shirt from the dresser on the left. Middle drawer.”

He nods, then gets up from your bed and shuffles over to the end of your room. You blatantly stare at his bare back without shame because of how exhausted you are. Bucky comes back with one of your old band t-shirts and tosses it at you.

“Think fast,” he says as it lands on your face. You huff a laugh before dragging it down.

“How sweet,” you joke. He smiles again before sitting on your bed again. You certainly don’t mind; you just don’t know what you can talk about with him now. Thankfully, one thing comes to mind.

“You disappeared after I showered,” you say, fiddling with the shirt in your hands. His smile drops a little and he guiltily looks towards the floor.

“Sorry,” he says, looking back at you. “I should’ve told you first.”

“No, no,” you wave him off. “It’s okay. I just wondered where you went. Was my technology lesson really that boring?”

“It was not,” he replies honestly. “I myself wouldn’t use it, but I am very informed now.”

“Good. Because you’re gonna have a lot of lessons with me when it comes to all the things that’ve changed over the last seven decades. Movies, music, historical movements. You’re gonna hate me by the end of it because I’ll never shut up about it.”

“I could never hate you.”

“That’s reassuring. I’ll just talk your ear off then.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

You give him a small laugh before you yawn again. You rub your eyes and swipe a hand through your hair, and Bucky can’t help think about what he overheard earlier today. It’s a little far-fetched to say that you’re in love with him, only because you didn’t say that. You’ve only caught feelings for him, and nothing else. So far. He still doesn’t know what to think, even after pondering it for hours after he heard you say it. He feels like he’s being a bad person because he’s not telling you he heard you, but at the same time, he’s probably saving you the embarrassment of having your confession being eavesdropped on. He sighs, deciding to just keep his mouth shut about it for now. His feelings are still a mystery to him towards you, so he needs to figure himself out as well before he tells you anything.

“I should get going,” he says, standing up. “You should get some rest.”

“As should you,” you say, smiling at him. “I know designer eye bags when I see them.”

“Goodnight, _______,” he grins, making his way for the door.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you say back. You eye him up and down again when he’s not looking, and wave to him when he shuts the door. Sighing sadly, you take off your dress and pull on your t-shirt before scooching down into bed and getting comfy. You close your eyes, hoping that one day, you’ll be able to muster up the courage to tell him you love him to his face.

Hopefully.


	13. Mamihlapinatapai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mamihlapinatapai (n) (Origin Yaghan): a look shared by two people, each wishing that the other would initiate something they both desire but which neither wants to begin

Another week passes, and you’re doing better.

The painkillers have been a blessing, dissolving the pain in your leg almost instantaneously. They’re surely something else. You haven’t run out yet, so there’s no need to bother Dr. Markson about it. He still comes by every now and then, seeing how you’re doing. It’s been great so far, and he seems satisfied. Just as a doctor should.

Your therapy with Dr. Laine has also gone pretty well also. You can put a little more pressure on your right leg, but not enough to be able to limp around without using crutches. Speaking of which, the crutches are very resourceful when it comes to reaching things on the ground, and occasionally giving someone a smack on the ass. All in good humour, though.

You can take solid foods again, thank god. You were starting to hate having jello, noodles, and a lot of water. The water was fine, since sometimes you’re mistaking your hunger for thirst, but damn. You’d kill for some chicken wings or a pizza.

Today feels like another lazy day. Tony’s gone back in New York for whatever reason. He didn’t really mention anything except that it was important. Wanda and Natasha have also left to go into the city for a number of reasons that they didn’t wish to disclose. Which leaves you with Steve, Sam, Bucky, and Vision. The Testosterone Quartet. You have no idea what Vision does with his time, but you can guess that he just wanders around or has his own private accommodations that he stays in for an allotted amount of time. Either way, you don’t see him very much.

Instead of just watching another movie to pass the time, you decide to be a little more productive today. After having a bowl of fruit, you change into some workout clothes and head down to the weights room. Naturally, you’d find Steve, Sam, and Bucky there. As you wobble over to the door, you can already hear them inside. And they’re fighting about something. You smile and shake your head as you walk in, giving them a wave of your crutch.

“Hello, fellas,” you say, heading over to the weights wall. They all fall silent when they see you. You raise a brow, but Steve clears his throat and speaks up first.

“_______,” he greets with a nod. “What uh… What’re you doing down here?”

“I can workout my upper body still,” you explain, slowly sitting down on a bench. You set your crutches aside and pick up some dumbbells. “Might as well do something so I don’t lose all my muscle mass.”

Steve and Sam look at each other nervously, and you catch on to it. Bucky seems a little anxious as well, scratching his neck and avoiding eye contact.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, curling your arms in. They all look at each other, having a non-verbal conversation. You feel like you’ve stumbled into something that was meant to be kept private. You stare at them curiously, waiting for one of them to speak up.

“Well, Cap,” Sam sighs in defeat. “We might as well, right?”

“We’re finished, for the most part,” Steve says, glancing at you. “Bucky’s ready, I’m ready. I think it’s worth a go.”

“Mm,” Bucky grunts in agreement. You set your weights down, wondering what the hell they’re talking about.

“Someone wanna enlighten me?” you ask, cocking your head to the side.

Steve crosses his arms and grins widely, looking up at the ceiling. You raise your eyebrows and look up as well, questioning just what the hell they have planned. Sam and Bucky smile in unison, then go over to join Steve.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” he calls out.

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

“You know what to do.”

You look on, still confused, as they line up together. But when you hear the overhead song, you burst out into a gigantic smile.

“No wayyy!” you yell, giggling with excitement. You clap your hands and sing along to the lyrics of Red Velvet’s “Dumb Dumb”.

You never knew you could laugh this hard. Watching three grown men dance to an energetic, girly KPOP song is the icing on the cake. The cherry on top. And the fact that they went and practiced by themselves to do this for you? You couldn’t be happier.

You notice they’re improved a lot. They’re less stiff, their footwork is a solid nine out of ten, and even their enthusiasm has gotten much better. They may only be smiling because they feel so stupid, but you couldn’t care less. This was supposed to be their punishment for not telling you about the fixed training room, but right now, this feels like a reward. Watching them dance in unison is a sight to see.

And you hope F.R.I.D.A.Y. is secretly recording it.

Bucky is definitely smiling a lot more. He must feel like a fool, and that’s why he can’t stop smiling, but you can’t help but wonder if he’s actually enjoying it. You know you certainly are. You try to watch them all equally, but your eyes always trail back to Bucky, his metal arm easily conforming to the arm movements. He seems like he wants to be angry, but he just can’t. When he frowns for a second, he immediately breaks out into a smile. He’s so surprised at himself that he can’t help but show it.

You’re surprised yourself when they execute the parts they had difficulty with with ease. They don’t bump into each other when they transition to their new spots, nor do they swear in frustration if they miss a step. It’s fantastic to see them getting along for your sake.

You do the hand movements as you’re sitting, unable to keep yourself from joining in. The song is so cheery and exhilarating that it gets your heart racing and your blood pumping. You’ve never felt so content in your life. Here they are, members of The Avengers (minus Bucky, for now), dancing enthusiastically to the girly song you picked out for them, and it’s almost perfect. Their hip movements are your favourite part. The satisfying  _snap_  and lock of their hips they make is so pleasing that you get goosebumps on your arms and legs.

By the end, you’re crying from laughter and happiness. You wipe your eyes as they do their ending poses, huffing and puffing, and you sniffle, trying to control yourself.

“I can’t believe thiiis,” you whine. “I thought you guys forgot!” They all drop their arms and keep catching their breath. Steve speaks up first.

“Of course not,” he says, hands on his hips. Sweat drips down from his forehead, and his cheeks are red. From sweating or embarrassment, you can’t tell.

“Yeah, I had to remind them,” Sam cuts in, shoving Steve with his shoulder.

“Okay, well,” Steve starts, trying to defend himself. “I didn’t forget. It just slipped my mind.”

“Liar,” Bucky smiles. “Even I remembered.”

“Gimme some credit, man,” Steve laughs.

You watch on, still trying to console yourself. You’re bursting with radiance, and you cannot believe that they did this for you. It’s certainly a great “welcome back” gift. You had no time to teach them because you were stuck in bed for a week, and even more so because you’re wounded. You weren’t going to bug them about it, since they had other things to worry about, but obviously you were wrong. They actually got together and decided to learn and finish the dance for you.

What did you do to deserve these three?

“You guys are amazing, oh my god,” you say, wiping away the last of your tears.

“No need to cry over us, Spyro,” Sam says. “We know we’re awesome.”

You blow your lips and shake your head at them. You pick up your dumbbells again and begin your curls.

“I love you guys, you know that?” you say. “Honestly. What did I do to deserve great guys like you?”

“Funny. We could say the same thing about you,” Steve says. You smile widely and look towards the floor.

“Shut up,” you mutter.

Sam stands with his arms crossed, and leans forward, seeking some acknowledgment.

“Hellooo? Are you gonna tell us how we did or leave us hanging?”

“Oh right!” You keep curling your arms in as you give your critique. “Your footwork was on point. I’m very impressed with how far you’ve come in that regard. Your movements were fluid and precise. A few slip-ups here and there, but anyone who doesn’t know the dance wouldn’t notice. Ummm. The transitions went surprisingly well. None of you bumped into each other, and none of you looked towards the other to see if you were doing it right. Your hips were very sharp and precise, never sluggish. I’d say the overall execution is nine and a half out of ten.”

You set your weights down for a second to give them a hearty applause of praise. Sam and Steve jokingly bow, while Bucky beams at you. They’re all genuinely happy that you enjoyed their performance.

“We thought this would cheer you up,” Steve explains. “Being stuck here indefinitely with a bad leg has more cons than pros.”

“Awww,” you coo. “Well. Thanks for thinking of me in this dire situation. I am very cheered up.”

“We’re glad to hear it,” he says.

“Next time I’m feeling down, I’ll just get you guys to dance for me,” you joke.

“Don’t count on it, Spyro,” Sam laughs. You pout at his answer, but you were expecting it anyway.

“Okayyy,” you sigh. You lay on your back on the bench and pick up your weights again. “One can only hope.”

Steve chuckles and leans over to poke your forehead. He’s about to leave you alone when he remembers something.

“Thank you again for yesterday, _______,” he says. “It’s a birthday I’ll never forget.”

“You’re very welcome, Steve,” you smile. “I totally forgot about it until a little while ago, so I got everyone together to plan it. Even if you didn’t want it. I couldn’t not let you celebrate your birthday.”

“I really appreciate it,” he smiles.

“Hopefully next year will be just as good,” you say. “Maybe better. Maybe you’ll get a bigger surprise.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

He smiles again before finding his way to the weights. Sam comes over to flick your nose, and in return, you playfully smack his leg as he goes on his way. Bucky, on the other hand, comes down and sits on the floor. He loosely wraps his arms around his knees and peers up at you.

“’Sup,” you say with a head nod.

“Hey,” he smiles. You begin your chest flies, flicking your eyes down at him, smiling widely.

“That was quite the performance,” you say again. “You seemed like you were really enjoying it.”

“Was I?” he smiles, running a hand through his hair. “’Cause I’m pretty sure I messed up a few parts. I wasn’t very happy about that.”

“That’s not what your face was telling me,” you smirk. “You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. It’s okay. You can admit it.”

“Okay, yeah, I know,” he confirms. “I’m just not used to doing something so… so–“

“Amazing?” you guess. “Incredible? Outstanding?”

“Awkward.”

You burst out laughing, groaning all the while as you drop your weights to the floor. Bucky laughs along with you, albeit quietly. He wears a soft expression as he listens to your laugh. It’s one of his favourite sounds you make. Another is when you squeal from surprise when he sneaks up on you; another is when you hiccup from eating too much too fast then scowl when everyone picks on you for it. And one more is when you’re enthusiastically belting out the lyrics to your favourite songs. The way you look so carefree and genuinely happy makes his heart swell.

He’s had time to lay out his feelings that he has for you. There are some there, but he still wants to get to know you better. Watching movies together and working out in the same room is nice and all, but he doesn’t get the chance to talk with you much. Most of that being his own fault, but he needed time to figure himself out. He was wary of everyone when he arrived at the compound. He knew of everyone, except for you. You were the new face that forced him out of cryostasis and took away his trigger words. He couldn’t thank you enough, and he still feels like he can’t. But he hopes at least he’ll get to know you as a person. So far, the only things he knows about you are that you have an intense love for music, your go-to dinner is vegetables and rice, and that you love to sleep in. Other than that, he’s got nothing. Nothing on an emotional level. And despite the irony, he wants to know those parts of you. Funny how he can’t open up about himself, but he’s always willing to listen about other’s lives. Having a deep connection is essential to any relationship; and he’s having trouble getting there.

“Okay, I guess so,” you continue on after your laugh attack. You wipe the sweat from your forehead and sit up to look him in the eye. “But you still did great. All of you did. I am very proud of you.”

“Thanks,” he snorts, looking towards the floor. You pout, then push his forehead back with your finger so he’s looking at you again.

“And I mean it,” you say earnestly. “For an old guy, you move pretty well for a girl group dance.”

His eyes crinkle in the most beautiful way as he grins. He leans away so your finger falls, then stands up to sit down on the bench with you. You raise a brow at him and can’t help but smile along with him. You can’t not smile when you’re around Bucky. It’s your default whenever he walks into the room; whether he just came out of his room, going outside to train with Steve, or just lounging about. Bucky’s presence gives you a reason to be in a good mood. And no matter how many teasing comments Wanda gives you, you don’t tear your eyes away from him.

“How’s your leg?” he asks. “Can you stretch it?”

“Hmm?” You look down at your thigh, still securely wrapped up in bandages. It’s been a blessing to have everyone help you change it. But Bucky especially, for obvious reasons. You shrug indifferently. “More or less. Dr. Laine does some exercises sometimes to get me used to movement again. The stitches feel better, so it’s not that painful, but some still lingers.”

“How often do you do that?”

“Every other day.”

“Would you like me to do some exercises with you?”

Biggest internal scream of your entire goddamn life.

“Sure.”

You keep a straight face as you lay down on your back, and slowly raise your leg into Bucky’s hands. He holds your heel and the back of your calf, then looks towards you for instruction.

“It’s pretty basic,” you start, your voice sounding a little strained. “Dr. Laine usually just bends my leg until I can’t take the pain anymore. Then stretches it back out, and then vertically too. She repeats it so I can get used to it. And for other medical reasons I don’t bother to listen to.”

Bucky nods, then grips your ankle as he stands up and starts slowly pushing your leg in. When he sees your eyes twitch in pain, he pulls your leg back out. With your leg extended, he pushes it straight upwards, then back down again. He keeps repeating the process, and takes the chance to talk to you some more. But instead of idle chit chat, he wants to know you as a person.

“Sooo where did you grow up?” he asks.

 _This is new_.

“Oh. Um. You could probably guess,” you say, tucking your hands behind your head. He pulls his mouth to the side, giving it a bit of thought, before just shrugging his shoulders. You bite your tongue as you smile as you sing. “Just a small town girl~. Living in a lonely world~.”

“Don’t Stop Believing,” Bucky smiles. “Journey. I remember that one.”

“Nice!” you say, giving him a little clap. “Yeah. Grew up in a small village in Southern Ontario. Went to the local elementary school, then out of town for high school. I got a student summer job at my dad’s workplace for two summers before getting a photography job out of town for a year to save up and move all the way to Toronto to go to university. The money helped a lot with rent and expenses, but it was still pretty tight. Started from the bottom now I’m here.”

“Small town girl in the big city,” he says, rolling your ankle. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“That’s okay,” you say. “I don’t think many people would. A lot of my friends grew up in populated cities, but a handful grew up with me. About a fifty-fifty chance.”

“It must have been a pain at times though,” he says. He puts your leg down and starts stretching the other one. “Being away from everything.”

“Ehhh.” You give a shake of your hand. “That was fifty-fifty too. I mean, mostly everything was within walking distance. It was great when I was a kid. We would go to my aunt’s house a lot because they had a pool. And so did my other aunt. And another, but they were about an hour away. Anyway. Yeah. I could walk and bike to school, but as I got older I learned to drive and got my G2. And I didn’t mind at times driving into the city to go get groceries or go shopping at the mall. Made more time for music. That’s one of the best parts.”

“You really like music, huh?” he muses.

“You have no idea,” you snort. “Ohhh! Lemme tell you about how I got into KPOP.”

This goes on for a while. Bucky would ask a question, you would answer, then go a little off-track and talk about another thing that happened in your life. At some points you ask if you’re talking too much, but Bucky shakes his head and tells you to continue on. Steve watches from afar, a huge smile plastered to his face. He’s having the time of his life seeing Bucky learn more about you. He’s not going to stop pestering Bucky about it now. But in a smooth, sly way, sneaking it in there when Bucky’s least expecting it. Even when Bucky’s finished stretching your legs, and you’ve completed your upper body training, you haven’t stopped talking. Leaving the weights room, going upstairs in the elevator, and having a snack in the kitchen; Bucky’s been mentally writing everything down, trying to remember the important things. But to Bucky, everything matters. Your past injuries, your embarrassing moments, the times you got the shit scared out of you. Every little bit of a person is important. And he wants to remember these things for you. And to tease you when the chance presents itself.

“–and then I almost cried in my seat because I was so scared.” You pause to take a bite of your apple. “I’m the person that hates scary movies. Hate ‘em with my fiery being. When she suggested we all go see  _Annabelle_ , I knew I couldn’t tell her no because then I’d just ruin everyone’s good time. So I sucked it up, and covered my ears and closed my eyes at the really scary parts. The way they designed the demon thing was so fuckin’ unbelievable. I caught a glimpse of it and I swear to god I didn’t stop thinking about it for a couple months.”

You sigh sadly, trying to shake the memory from your head. That should be another thing for Vision to take away. He said he’d never do it again, but you can always hope. He took his sweet time with Bucky, so maybe with enough coaxing, Vision will take away another memory for you. But him being who and what he is, he might not go for it. You’re so deep in thought about getting Vision to comply that you don’t even hear Bucky calling your name.

“_______?” he tries again. “_______?”

“O-Oh!” You look up from the counter and focus on him again. “Sorry. I spaced out for a second. What’d you say?”

“I asked,” he starts, smiling stupidly, “if you had any more bad experiences with scary movies.”

You give him a deadpan expression.

“When do I  _not_?” you say, shaking your head. “Let’s see. I watched  _Strangers_  when I was at my aunt’s house. Apparently it was based on two different real-life events? That just made it all worse. I didn’t wanna be the only one not watching it, so me being stupid, I went in, watched it, and was horrified. Didn’t stop thinking about that for a few months either. Um. Oh! Our soccer team would have parties at our assistant coach’s house, and during Halloween, we’d watch the scary Halloween movies. I didn’t appreciate that either, but for some goddamn reason, everyone just loved scary movies. Some of them even made fun of the movies and I’m just sitting there all confused about it, wondering why the hell they’re not scared out of their minds. It’s weird. I try to avoid them altogether, but some of them aren’t that bad. Like the  _Paranormal Activity_  movies got nothing on me.”

“Why’s that?”

“First of all, I kinda like those kinds of movies where it’s from the perspective of the person with the camera. You see all the shakes and motion and all that. This movie series is like that. I got motion sickness from seeing one of them in theatres, though. I felt awful.”

“How can you get motion sickness from a movie?”

“It’s because of the fact that you can see and experience all the movements the camera is making from the character running and switching back and forth. Not fun. Anyway. They’re paranormal movies. Ghosts, things moving around on their own; stuff like that I can handle. But when you add demons or gore into the mix, I just cannot deal with it.”

“Would it be better if… someone was there to watch it with you?”

“Pffft nope. I’d protest first, and when I finally cave, I’ll be hiding behind pillows, or even go as far as listening to music and playing on my phone. Rude be damned. If I don’t want to watch a scary movie, then I won’t.”

“Why don’t you like them?”

“Well, ‘cause they’re meant to prey on our primal instinct to survive. And I don’t want to watch a movie about some guy in a mask going around climbing into people’s homes and slicing their throats. Otherwise, I’ll be thinking about it while I’m lying in bed, scenarios playing in my mind, always asking ‘what if?’. The ones based on true stories are the worst of the worst because it actually  _happened_  in real life. And I don’t need that kind of shit in my life.”

Not exactly what Bucky wanted to hear, but he can’t blame you. Why curl up to someone in fear while you’re watching something horrifying when you don’t even need to watch it at all? He’s slightly disappointed, but he definitely gets where you’re coming from. Looking at the time, you hop on over to one of the kitchen cabinets to take your painkillers. You know Dr. Markson said take one every eight hours, which you are, but when the pain is too much, you take another to counteract the sting. It’s seen better days, and you’re sure it’s almost healed. You just hope you can ditch those crutches as soon as possible.

“Is it acting up again?” Bucky asks, looking over his shoulder at you.

“Meh,” you reply, shrugging. “It’s nothing. I take them as directed, but every now and then I take another if I feel like I really need it. Ice packs or elevating it will just piss me off. Plus, these work almost as soon as I take it, so it’s not so bad.”

“I don’t wanna sound like I’m telling you what to do,” he starts, pursing his lips. “But I think you should listen to your doctor.”

“Sure thing, Tony,” you scoff, taking a swig of your water. He looks a little hurt by your sarcasm. You ease back into being playful. “I’m only joking. I do listen to him. But hey, I’m not dead yet, right? Maybe you can blame me then.”

“Hopefully I won’t have to.”

“True. Oh! Speaking of death, you would not believe the amount of car accidents my cousins have been in. Let me tell ya.”

And you do. He’s a little timid when he listens because he doesn’t really enjoy talking about life-or-death situations. He’s way past that stage of gossip. He’s grateful though when you don’t go off about anything past car accidents. He doesn’t know how he’d deal with the kind of conversation where you talk about a past friend or relative that died. He just couldn’t. Now, he cautiously steers you in another direction.

“Do you have any other stories about past friends?” he starts, clasping his hands together on the counter. “Things they did to embarrass you, or any trips you went on, or past relationships?”

You give him a few hearty laughs at that last one. You shake your head in disbelief and round the counter to be closer to him.

“I have got about zero stories regarding that topic,” you chuckle.

“Really?” He sounds a little too happy about it.

“Pfft, yeah,” you say. “I mean, a few here and there, but they were nothing special.”

“So you do have some stories then?”

“Ehh not really. But I  _can_  tell you that–oh hey!”

Just when as it’s getting good, Natasha comes waltzing around the corner. You give her a smile and a hug when she approaches you. She gives another smile and a head nod towards Bucky. He returns the same actions and looks at his hands.

So much for that.

“Haven’t seen ya ‘round here for a while,” you say. “Where’ve you been hiding?”

“I haven’t,” she clarifies. “You’ve just been cooped up in here too long to notice me.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that,” you agree. “So what’s up?”

“I would like to borrow you for a while,” she explains. “Would you mind?”

“Not at all,” you reply. You limp over to your crutches and wave to Bucky.

“I’ll talk to you later, okay?” you call as you go off with Natasha.

“Yeah,” comes his quiet reply. He gives you a small smile, but it falls when you disappear down the hall and to the elevator. Bucky sighs and stands up straight, cracking his knuckles. He was so close to getting onto the topic of romantic situations, and then Natasha comes swooping in and whisks you away to God knows where. Just his luck. When he sees you again later that night, or perhaps even the next day, he knows he can’t bring the topic up again without giving the impression that he’s thinking about you in that way. He knows that somehow, someway, in the matter of circumstances, the topic will be brought up again on its own. He just knows it will. Then he’ll have his chance to pry.

He decides to head to the pool, of all places. His arm is waterproof, and as far as he can tell, he’ll be alone. He doesn’t see many of the team members going for a swim. It’s helpful exercise, plus he’ll be alone with his thoughts to think about how he’s going to win you over.

* * *

_One month later_

You’ve never been more ecstatic in your life since coming to the compound. Finally. Your leg is healed.

It’s been a dandy four weeks sitting in therapy and being bored out of your mind. You never thought you’d see the day where you say you hate watching TV to pass time. It gets incredibly tedious when there’s nothing good to watch, and you decide to just nap instead. But then you’d be shaken awake to have a check-up with Dr. Markson. No offence to the guy, but you do not interrupt someone when they’re napping. Doesn’t matter what the reason is; if it’s not that important, then it can wait. You had finished the bottle of painkillers and went to Dr. Markson like he said; he evaluated you, and didn’t give you anymore prescriptions. He just told you to come to him if the pain starts acting up again and he’ll have another look. Thankfully, you didn’t have to do that.

You still went outside for some air and to enjoy nature, but it just wasn’t the same at times. Laying in the grass for a few hours is truly uplifting, but you missed being out in the city, in the field. You kept nagging Steve to let you in on things going on, and sometimes he’d give you something because he felt bad about you being stuck inside for so long. But other times, he didn’t give you anything just to spite you. All in good nature, though. He wouldn’t deliberately make you mad.

You can eat solid foods again, you can walk on your own, and Dr. Markson removed the stitches. The scar turned out alright, not too pretty-looking but you don’t care. You couldn’t be happier. You also decided to wear your battle gloves all the time because one, they look great, and two, you never know what could happen. A fire could start anywhere in the compound, and you didn’t know when you’d be bored enough to prank everyone you see. You tried that on Vision, but he didn’t even flinch. He just told you to be careful where you point your flames. He can be such a buzzkill sometimes. But the one good thing (amongst others, but let’s be real) that came out of those agonizingly slow weeks, is the amount of time you spent with Bucky.

Day in and day out, you’d see Bucky sometime during your day. You could have hung out with him all day, and then he’d retreat back to his room to have time to himself. You didn’t mind at all. You knew he didn’t want everyone to see him in certain states, so he would hide in the safety of his room. But you always told him that you’re there to talk if he needed anyone. He would nod, go to his room, and not speak to anyone. It saddened you a little that he didn’t trust you enough to talk about his issues, but you had to see where he was coming from. Talking about horrors like that wouldn’t be the easiest thing in the world. But you’re willing to wait.

However, he was still a joy to be around. Watching more movies, working out, hell, even swimming and playing billiard. He also saved your ass a few times when you tried to walk down the stairs while still using your crutches. You would laugh about it as Bucky would pull you back, but you swore you never seen him look so concerned before. You kept using the elevator after that to spare his poor heart.

You also noticed that the more time you spent with him, the closer you got. Literally. Sitting on the couch? You’d be touching knees and almost have your arms pressed together. Eating breakfast? He’d take a seat right next to you without question. Passing each other in the hall? He’d almost intentionally brush arms with you just because he wanted to. Some food on your face or fluff on your clothes? He’d go out of his way to wipe it away himself. And even though you noticed him doing things like this, you never thought anything of it. Sure, you knew what those types of signs meant, but you shrugged them off. No use thinking about it if he’s just getting more comfortable around you. You couldn’t be happier that he’s finally settling in and talking more.

You also took it to yourself to speak with Maeve more often. You knew her school schedule, so you knew when it’d be a good time to call her. It kinda sucked being a summer student, but Maeve handles it pretty well. And unless you had other things to do (which wasn’t much), you stuck to that schedule with frequent updates on your well-being, and what’s been happening with everyone. Not too much information, though; you’re always afraid of being intercepted. That’d be one worst-case-scenario. Another would be an attack on the compound. But so far, no one’s been stupid enough to try and do it.

And when you weren’t in the mood to interact with anyone, you would edit Bucky’s photos. You completely forgot about them until you were sifting through your laptop one boring day. There wasn’t much to do to them besides a basic edit because there was nothing wrong with them. Bucky looked amazing, so adding a little punch would just make them a little more outstanding. You spent quite a lot of time on them, since you couldn’t stop staring at them. After you edited them all, you went back and did different edits to see how they’d look. A full black and white photo edit except for his eyes. You pumped up the blue of his eyes a little bit so they stood out a lot more. You did the same edit to a few others before changing the colour scheme completely as another edit. Andy Warhol, Lichtenstein, stained glass, a painting, typography, a double exposure using one of your own nature photos… you did it all. And they all looked great, in your opinion. You weren’t going to show him, though. That was just a little something to indulge yourself and give yourself an excuse to stare at his face for a few hours.

Above all else, you’re glad as hell that you can walk again without having stinging pain shoot up your leg. Dr. Laine would have you walk on a treadmill, then amp up the speed to see how well you had taken care of yourself. She was very pleased by the results. You were able to run at full speed without your thigh ripping open. You were so thrilled about it that you took it upon yourself to keep using the treadmill, even after the session was over. You weren’t sure how much muscle mass you’d lost during your time as a cripple, but it wasn’t as much as you’d originally thought.

The first thing you did after leaving Dr. Laine’s office was dance. Specifically, Red Velvet’s “Dumb Dumb”. You had missed out performing it with Bucky, Sam, and Steve, so you didn’t get the chance to enjoy doing it with them. But that didn’t stop you. You happily danced by yourself to the song without a care in the world. You were just ecstatic to be on your feet again.

One thing you forget to do a lot of the time is to write in your journals. The day after July 4th, which was Steve’s birthday, you dug out your Day Journal from the crevices of your bed and wrote in it. There was a lot to cover, like Tony giving you your suit, training with a gun, and your first solo mission. Word vomit came out when you started writing. You swore you had ten pages filled when you were finished. But then you started writing about planning for Steve’s birthday. Proceed more word vomit. Some words ended up scribbled down because you were so excited about writing it out. Steve’s reaction was the best. He didn’t see it coming because he didn’t really plan on celebrating his birthday. But when he saw the cake that you, Wanda, and Sam made for him and all the little gifts and decorations, he couldn’t stop smiling. He has such in infectious smile, and it makes you swell with pride that you helped plan this day for him. He’s just a sweet, old man.

Now, the Avenger’s Journal hasn’t been touched in a while. The most you write in it is the emotional stability of some of the team members of any given day. You’ve come to the conclusion that they all have PTSD. You looked up the symptoms to make sure that you weren’t just making assumptions. You know that Steve and Bucky had been in World War Two, so they were easy to cross off the list. Sam told you about he saw his partner, Riley, get shot right out of the sky in front of him. Another checked off the list. Wanda lived in a poor part of Sokovia, and protested against the Avenger’s, especially Tony because his weapons killed her parents. Cue another traumatized team member. Natasha with the Red Room, and Tony in Afghanistan. They, along with Steve, had also participated in the Battle of New York and against Ultron. The rest of the Avengers aside, you made sure to never unintentionally trigger something from their past. You once saw Tony experience a panic attack by accident. He didn’t see you, and you didn’t bring it up to him either. You’re sympathetic enough to know what it feels like to go through something like that. And that you wouldn’t want to talk about it afterwards either. So you kept that to yourself.

There were many things written about Bucky. Maybe too much. It’s not like anyone’s going to find it (you’d made sure of that), so it’s okay. It’s only for yourself, so you’re going to write as much as you want. There were things written about his mental stability and behavioural habits. You’re not an expert in reading behaviour, but watching enough  _Criminal Minds_  has given you somewhat of an idea. His first days at the compound, a week later, a few more, and time spent with you. That was your favourite part to write. It’s been impeccable spending time with him, and you made sure to let your pages know it.

Probably the most important thing you did during your downtime was to develop your pyrokinesis. You did your damnedest to produce fire on your own without having a source. You’ve had your powers for seven months now; you’d think you’d be able to make a single flame with ease. But it’s a lot more complicated when you have to learn it compared to being born with it. It’s more difficult than one would think. Meditating is the easiest way to focus, and you did it just as you always had. Just like a candle flame, you visualized the fire forming in your palm, and pushed your energy forward to generate a flame. You had noticed a greater amount of control in yourself, because after hours of relentless concentration, you managed to forge a fireball in your hand. It blew up in your face though because you were too excited. After that, you kept training yourself, and soon, you managed to produce flames sliding up your forearms. The initial heat wasn’t too bad; you barely felt it. But you’re sure that once you’ve used your suit, you won’t be able to feel a thing.

But now, after all was said and done, you just want to go outside. More specifically, into the city.

You have it all planned out, in a very detailed and eloquent strategy: beg Steve. Now normally, you’d just go into the city by yourself and let someone know so they don’t go looking for you when they don’t know where you are. But this time will be different, because you want to bring Bucky with you. As long as Bucky conceals his metal arm and acts like a normal person, everything should be fine. Besides, how many people in Los Angeles know about the Winter Soldier and what he looks like?

You’re already dressed appropriately for the weather for August 5th: some jean short overalls with fishnets underneath, an old Nirvana shirt, some runners, and your gloves. You have your hair in a ponytail paired with a baseball cap with a smiley face on it. You’re all set to go, and humbly approach Steve in the kitchen. He’s just finished another workout and is having some juice. He seems to be in a good mood, but you still take this slowly.

“Hey, Steve,” you say cheerfully.

“Hey, _______,” he smiles, pouring some orange juice in a glass. “What’s up?”

“Nothin’,” you reply, spreading your hands on the counter. “Just gonna go into the city for a bit. Is that okay?”

He takes a sip, staring you down, and thinks about it for a minute. Your mission was forever ago, your leg is healed, and he was honestly getting tired of seeing you sit on the couch all day. What’s the harm?

“Yeah,” he says, licking his lips. “As long as you come back in one piece.”

“Great!” you say happily. “There’s just one thing, though…”

“What’s that?” he asks, raising a brow.

You bite your lip, wondering how he’s going to react. You already asked Bucky if he wanted to go with you, and he obliged after much consideration. So if Steve says no, you’ll have to convince him otherwise.

“Bucky’s coming too,” you say quietly.

“_______,” Steve starts, his voice a slight tone of disapproval. “I don’t–“

“Just hear me out, okay?” you start, already know that he won’t allow it. “Bucky’s been here for over two months now! Don’t you think he’s been stuck in here long enough?”

“I know, _______,” Steve starts again, shaking his head. “I know he has. But it’s not safe for him and–“

“He’d be safe with me,” you counter, staring him down. You’re not going to let up on this. “I won’t let anyone touch him. Plus, I don’t think you’d want him to have cabin fever. You ever seen  _The Shining_? A prime example of going crazy and butchering your family. Do you want that, Steve? He can’t be shielded forever. Yes, I know anything can happen, but I won’t let it happen. Don’t you trust me?”

There it is. The trust card.

Steve sighs, and trails his eyes across the counter. Of course he does. Of course he trusts you. He trusts Bucky enough, since he’s gone without an incident at the compound (other than that small altercation with Sam). Plus, Bucky lived in Romania for a while without being found. Clearly he can handle himself. Steve’s just always worried about the people still looking for him, and what would happen if they  _did_  find him. The right people know what he looks like, so after some face recognition software, they’d come after him as soon as possible. But under any circumstances, he knows that  _you_  are  _not_  going to let anyone touch him. You’ve been a great addition to the team, and you’ve created an outstanding friendship with him.

“Fine, fine,” he sighs in defeat. “He can go with you.” You’re about to thank him, but he cuts you short as he continues on in a serious tone. “But I’m serious, _______. You have to be careful. If anyone recognizes him, it could be catastrophic for all of us.”

“Steve,” you say, as serious as he is. “Trust me when I say that I’d kill for him. And I’m not about to let his good-behaviour streak be broken. I’ll keep him safe, but he can also take care of himself. It’ll just be a quick trip. I already know where we’re going. Just there and back. I promise.”

“I believe you,” he says, giving you a small smile. “But still. Be careful. If anything happens–“

“Which it won’t!”

“–call us and let us know.”

“I will.”

“Good. Where is he anyway?”

“He should beee–oh. Right here.”

Bucky comes around the corner, ready to head into the city. You and Steve give him a once-over, then look at each other, then back to Bucky. You both shake your heads.

“Bucky,” you start, face in your hand, “I said dress appropriately.”

“What’s wrong with this?” he asks, looking down at his attire. He’s wearing three layers of shirts, plus a jacket, black boots, and a dark baseball cup. You cannot describe how wrong this is.

“You look like a hitman!” you exclaim, covering your mouth to hide your smile. Bucky sighs and shrugs.

“Well what the hell do you want me to do?” he asks, putting forth some faux aggression.

“Bucky, you look like you’re  _trying_  to hide,” you explain, taking a few steps towards him.

“Because I  _am_ ,” he fights back.

“Yeah, I know but.” You sigh, trying to get the words right. “You need to hide in  _plain sight_. Look like a normal person and not a vicious attacker.”

“And you do you propose I do that?” he asks pointedly.

“Lose the layers,” you say immediately. “Don’t make yourself look bigger than you actually are. Not that it’s a problem, but you don’t wanna look too intimidating. Like if I saw you walking towards me on the street, I’d turn the other way. Bolt right in the other direction. You get what I’m saying? You gotta look like a friendly.”

“I am a friendly!” he shouts. You burst out laughing at his reaction, because he’s actually mad about it. You wave him off when he gives you an annoyed look.

“Don’t worry. I got you covered. Come with me.”

You lead him back to his room, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts in the kitchen, a giant smile on his face.

* * *

By the time you’re done dressing Bucky, he’s only slightly annoyed.

Instead of three layers of shirts, he got one plain red shirt paired with a light, black jacket to hide his arm. You let him keep his glove, for obvious reasons. You let him keep his jeans as well, but make him wear low rise shoes instead of his boots. After the clothes came his face. Everything was perfect of course, but there were still small things that needed fixing. You told him to shave, which he did after some persuasion. He got hotter by one hundred and ten percent after that, but then the problem was his hair. You weren’t going to tell him to cut it, but when you told him to tie it up, he was a little confused as to why. He did it anyway, and you could not believe how good he looked. You were almost offended that he was able to do that. You tried a pair of glasses on him to see how it’d look, but opted for sunglasses instead. It hides his eyes, and it’s sunny outside, so he’ll blend right in.

And he does.

He only sulked about looking so ridiculous for a few minutes of the car ride. Once you got into downtown L.A., he visibly relaxed. Being around so many people still puts him on edge a bit, but he’s fine as long as you’re with him.

“Where are we going?” he asks as you pull into a parking garage.

“The Grand Central Market,” you reply, paying the fare and pulling into a spot. “I wanted to walk around for a bit too. I hope that’s okay.”

“’S no problem,” he says. You didn’t really tell him in the first place, but whatever you had planned, he wouldn’t mind at all. He gets to spend more time with you, and that’s all that matters. It’s a major plus that he gets to go in the city as well, because he was getting sick of seeing the same walls for weeks on end. You put on your own sunglasses, grab your purse, and head out to the streets of downtown Los Angeles.

It’s a relatively short walk to the market, filled with a comfortable silence. You have conversations already running through your mind for when you get to the market. It’s a literal breath of fresh air to be outside in the city, and it feels even fresher with Bucky with you. Besides the literal meaning of growing closer together, you two really have gotten to know one another. Or rather, he’s gotten to know you. You didn’t mind that he didn’t have much to tell you because it was taken away, but you can’t help but wonder what things he  _would_  tell you, good or bad.

Once you step inside the market, it’s immediately chilly. It’s a relief from the heat of the sun, so you don’t mind that much. Bucky doesn’t express his disdain, if he has any. You had looked up the place before because you were in a market-y mood. The whole calm and cheery atmosphere of markets puts you at ease. You wanted to desperately get Bucky out of the compound, and what better place than a peaceful establishment with cuisines from around the world?

You keep an eye on him as you head to the organics section. You make sure he’s following you, since losing him in the crowd would be one worst-case scenario. And since he doesn’t have a phone, you wouldn’t be able to text nor call him to ask where he went. Him wandering off is also a possibility, but you hope he has enough sense to stick by your side for the entire trip. You look down at all the fruits and vegetables, grabbing a plastic bag. You check the apples for bruises before bagging them. As you keep picking out food, you side-eye Bucky. He’s just staring at all the food, and occasionally looking over his shoulder. You smile sadly.

“You can get food too, y’know,” you say. He turns back and looks at you. “If you want something, you can get it.” He nods, then grabs a plastic bag of his own and starts looking at the plums. Your smile grows and you keep picking fruits from the bins. When you have too many bags to carry, you grab a basket and plop them inside. You look up and see Bucky wandering around the section, picking out some oranges. You walk over to him and playfully bump his side.

“Find any good ones?” you ask, looking down at them. You pick one up and turn it around. “These are huge. Holy.”

Bucky doesn’t answer for a second because he’s so mesmerized by your side profile. Even though only half of your face is visible to him, he can’t help but stare. Stare at the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, the curve of your lips, the stray hairs sticking out of your ponytail. He smiles at you, not really registering that you’re asking him a question.

“What?” you ask, smiling. “Do I got something on my face?”

“No,” he replies, shaking his head as he smiles more. You give him a face, narrowing your eyes and look skeptical, but let it go for now.

“You can put your plums in here if you want,” you say, pulling the basket forward. “And your mutant oranges.”

He nods then plops them inside. You grin widely at him and keep looking. You pick up a band of bananas and put them in the basket too. You consider getting a watermelon, but shake your head and grab some cucumber instead. Saying “fuck it”, you also get some cauliflower, broccoli, onions, and bell peppers. You never know when you’d need them. You add some pineapple, grapes, and mozzarella cheese. Bucky sneakily slides in a bag of sunflower seeds and peanuts while you’re hyper-focused on the produce. He acts like he didn’t do anything when you look down and see them in the basket. You look at him, but he just smiles and shrugs his shoulders. You grin and lick your lips.

_He’s so beautiful when he smiles._

“That’s another way to blend in,” you say nonchalantly. “Smiling.”

Bucky’s face falls for a second before he’s beaming again. You notice and laugh at how hard he’s trying.

“See! There ya go! You look really nice when you smile.”

Your heart beats a thousand times a minute when you look in the basket, pretending to count all the things you have to make sure you didn’t miss anything. Meanwhile, Bucky’s staring at your outfit. He knew the women of this century dressed the complete opposite of the women in the ‘40s. He was surprised to see them dress less conservative and more… expressively. He could say he was almost shell-shocked to see you in fishnets with short overalls. He hadn’t seen a look like that before, and you look amazing in it.

“Okay, I think I got enough produce,” you say, moving the items around. “You need anything else from over here?”

“No,” he says quietly, still perplexed by your outfit.

“Okay then,” you continue, not even noticing him staring. “I’ll pay for these, and then we can walk through the market some more.”

“Sure.”

Once all your food is paid for and bagged, you and Bucky quietly walk through the market, seeing what they have to offer. Everything smells great, and you want to eat everything you see. There’s Chinese food, Japanese food, coffee stands, something called Eggslut, a pasta bar, sticky rice, fine ice cream. You couldn’t be in a better place to hang out with Bucky.

“When was the last time you’ve been to a market?” you ask, passing by a bread stand.

“Romania,” he answers quietly, skimming through some croissants.

“Ahhh,” you hum, looking at all the baguettes. “So it’s been a while, huh? I know this is a stupid question, but how does it feel to be back at a market?”

“That’s not a stupid question,” he smiles, picking up a loaf. He turns it around a bit before putting it back down and keeps walking with you. “It feels nice, actually. Being around so many people puts me on edge, but only because it’s been a while since I’ve been outside. But I can manage.”

“Yeahhh,” you say, scratching the back of your neck. “I was worried for you about that. But I really wanted you to get out of there because I was losing my mind, and I’m sure you were going insane too.”

“Thanks,” he says, grateful that you thought of his well-being. “As long as I’m with you, I’ll be fine.”

_Well fuck me up why don’t you?_

You look towards the floor and smack your lips together to keep your smile under control. He’s so incredibly sweet, and the only plausible response you have when he says stuff like that is to smile. You don’t have a better response than that to give, so you keep walking, passing all types of vendors. Looking at your basket, you get an idea.

_Of course!_

You peer your eyes all over the place, looking for any meat vendors. You turn back around, lighting tugging Bucky’s arm to get him to follow. You swore you thought you saw–and smelled–meat when you were getting produce. You come across one called “Roast to Go”, straight down from where the fruits and vegetables were. You skim the items quickly, and order five ounces of pepperoni and sausage. Bucky looks at you curiously as you pay for them.

“It’s make-your-own pizza night,” you tell him, smiling proudly. “That means we just need dough and tomato sauce!”

You tug him along again, excited about making your own pizza. Bucky happily lets you take him wherever you want; he’s content with following you around. It was your idea to go out, and also to bring him along, so he’s going to play by your rules. He trusts you to keep the two of you safe.

You find the dough and tomato sauce at one of the pizza vendors, called “Olio GCM Wood Fired Pizzeria”. You thank the man and put it in with the bag of produce. It’s getting heavy on your arm, so you fix your grip on the handles and keep walking along. Bucky notices you’re struggling a bit, then taps your arm.

“Want me to carry it?” he offers. At first you think no, you can handle it, but then again, Bucky is more than capable. It’s getting annoying trying to keep your purse on your shoulder anyway, so you hand the bag to him.

“Thanks,” you say, rubbing your fingers. “It was really digging into my skin.”

“No problem.”

Your stomach feels uncomfortably empty as you walk around the market. It smelt good the instant you walked in there, and after buying all this food, why not actually get something to eat? That wasn’t really your intention, but what the hell? Bucky’s probably hungry too. You look at him expectantly.

“Want some ice cream?”

It might not be what he wants, but you’re a sweating mess underneath your clothes, and need some serious relief. Bucky smiles widely and nods.

“Sure.”

Scanning a nearby map, you find yourselves at “McConnell’s Fine Ice Cream”. You look down at the glass encasings of the tubs of ice cream they have. You shoot a friendly smile to the woman behind the counter before looking back down.

“Welcome to McConnell’s,” she smiles, smoothing down her apron. “What can I get ya today?”

“Ummm, I’ll probably need another minute,” you say sheepishly.

“No problem!” she says. “Just lemme know.”

You nod, then keep scanning the flavours. Everything looks so good, and you’re starving for something satisfying. Bucky crouches down a bit to look with you, licking his lips in anticipation. He reads all the flavours, and is conflicted between three. You raise an eyebrow at one.

“Whiskey and pecan pralines?” you say to yourself. “Well, maybe a day when I’m not driving. Sooo not today. Hmmm…”

Bucky gives you another side-eye, but does so discreetly. He peeks at you with the safety of his sunglasses shielding his vision. He stares at your lips, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small smile. He just wants to  _know_ ; know if they’re as soft as they look. He realized a while ago that you pick at your lips when you’re stressed, but you take care of them as best you can. Today is one of your good days. He can see where the small patch of dead skin used to be on your upper lip. He also knows that you tend to keep your hands away from them when you’re in public, and he can tell. Every time your hand goes to your lips, you pretend you’re wiping something away, resisting the urge to start ripping off the skin. He wishes you wouldn’t do it, but not everyone can control their ticks. He would know.

He finds himself leaning closer to you, turning his head to look at you more. He sees your eyes still scanning the ice cream tubs from behind your sunglasses, deciding what to get. You start tapping the end of your chin, and frown slightly when you get frustrated. There’s just too many flavours to choose from. Sighing, you quickly do a round of eenie-meenie. Bucky doesn’t notice your inner monologue, but he does notice how close he is to you now. He says “fuck it” and just goes for it. Just as he closes the distance, you shoot straight up.

“Can we mix flavours together?” you ask the lady. Bucky’s eye twitches in annoyance, but gets over it and stands up as well.

“Of course!” she says. “You can mix any two or three flavours together.”

“Nice,” you say. “Makes this much easier. Then I’ll get a medium sized bowl of double peanut butter chip, cookies and cream, and banana and salted caramel. Know what you want, Bucky?”

He seems pissed off when you look at him, and you’re about to ask why when he gives the vendor his order.

“A small bowl of chocolate almond brittle,” he says quietly. You tilt your head in curiosity.

“You alright?” you ask. “Is the heat getting to you?” He knows he can’t tell you the truth without receiving an awkward silence afterwards. He looks towards the cement floor, before mentally slapping himself and smiling back at you.

“A bit,” he lies, clenching his left hand.

“Well you’ll feel better after this,” you smile. “Ice cream always gives me shivers.”

“Well it’s no wonder he’s havin’ a heat stroke,” the woman behind the counter decides to add. You both turn your heads towards her. She gestures to his attire. “Your poor boyfriend’s got too many layers on. In this California heat? You’re crazy t’ be dressin’ like that, young man. One of my son’s friends had heat stroke from not dressin’ for the weather. Don’t make the same mistake as him.”

Your eyes widened the moment she said “boyfriend”. You let your surprise slip away as she continued on, though. You take pleasure in the fact that yes, people will in fact address Bucky as your boyfriend. It may be the only time it will happen, so you’ll take advantage of every opportunity.

“That won’t be necessary,” you smile sweetly, handing her the cash to pay for both your ice creams. “He’s like a human popsicle. Cold to the touch. I don’t know how he does it.”

“Really?” she says, jealous. “You keep your arm tight around that one, honey. That’s about all the relief you’re goin’ t’ get in this state.”

“Don’t worry,” you tell her, slipping your arm around Bucky’s. “I will be. Thank you!”

You happily skip away from the vendor, and scope out the market for a place to sit. You completely ignore Bucky if he’s giving you any incredulous looks. And he is. He cannot believe you just went along with what the lady said. Boyfriend? The term seems so foreign to him now. He hasn’t dated in decades, and most of his suaveness got buried six-feet-under when he fell from the train. Is he actually your boyfriend now?

_No. No, of course not. That was just a normal reaction to–no. She would’ve corrected her. So why didn’t she?_

He lets himself be dragged along to a small seating area, and sits across from you. You set your purse on the ground beside your chair and cross your ankles, your mouth watering at your bowl of ice cream.

“Finally,” you sigh, picking up your spoon. “I’m famished.”

You moan in delight at the taste, and even more so at the goosebumps rising on your arms. You excitedly mix the flavours together, and knit your brows together when you look up at Bucky. He’s not eating; he’s just staring at you.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Are you not hungry?”

“Why did you do that?” he asks, getting straight to the point. He has an idea, but he wants to be sure.

“What, back at the ice cream vendor?” you ask, pointing your spoon behind you. He nods. You keep mixing your ice cream together as you answer him. “Natasha said I have to adapt to any situation. Improvise sometimes, and improvising is all about saying ‘yes’. I didn’t correct her to move the conversation along and to avoid providing an explanation if I  _did_  correct her. Wastes less time, too.”

Bucky purses his lips, then looks down at his ice cream. Makes perfect sense. A quick way to keep people from asking questions. And if he has to pretend to be your boyfriend to avoid unfriendly encounters, he’ll gladly take up the role. He smiles at the thought, and digs into his ice cream. He hasn’t had it in so long, it’s like he’s trying it for the first time. The flavour certainly is different. Salty chocolate. It’s something else. He likes the taste, though. He licks his lips every time he takes a bite. You definitely notice. You flit your eyes down at your own ice cream, then to his face. You grab your bowl and hold it out for him.

“Wanna try some?” you ask. He swallows and looks at the swirled brown puddle sitting in your bowl.

“You sure?” he asks. “Mine will get mixed with yours.”

“Don’t mind,” you wave him off. “I’ll eat almost any type of ice cream. It’s fine.”

He reaches forward and scoops some out of your bowl, then tastes it. His eyes widen for a second, and you’re scared he doesn’t like it.

“How is it?” you ask tentatively.

“It’s… delicious,” he says, only slightly surprised. “What’d you say you got?”

“Double peanut butter chip, cookies and cream, and banana and salted caramel,” you smile, scooping out some of Bucky’s bowl. You smirk at him as you taste it. Very salty.

“Hey,” he laughs, taking another scoop from your bowl.

“Hey!” you protest. “That’s not fair!”

You go back and forth like this, stealing each other’s ice cream, dripping little dots of it on the wooden table. At one point you just slap your spoon on his mouth, leaving him to lick it up. You laugh at his reaction to avoid having him ask why your cheeks are red.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” he says, wiping away the bits his tongue can’t reach.

“You started it!” you counter.

“I don’t think so,” he says, still wiping his mouth. “You took mine without asking, so I counteracted.”

“By taking some more  _without_  asking, I might add,” you say. “You’re only digging yourself a deeper hole, Bucky. You know you started it.”

“I didn’t ask to have ice cream slapped on my face,” he defends, getting the last of it off his face.

“What can I say?” you shrug. “You deserved it.”

He narrows his eyes at you, though you can’t even see them. You just give him another sweet smile and continue to eat your ice cream. He does the same as well, but since he’s feeling slightly petty, he slathers his own ice cream on your mouth, and some on your cheek. You gasp at his action, and lean forward to keep it from dropping on your clothes.

“Bucky!” you shout, dropping your spoon and hovering your hands above the table. “You little shit! I can’t even–I don’t even have any napkins!”

You start licking around your mouth, getting all that you can before giving up. You take off your glove and wipe your hand down your cheek, and groan as you start licking your fingers. You shake your head in disbelief as you keep doing it.

“You suck,” you laugh. “Now I have sticky fingers! This one is definitely on you. Don’t even try to put the blame on me!”

You wipe the stickiness on your overalls and slide your glove back on. You cross your arms on the table and pout at him. There it is again. He can’t stop staring at your lips. It’s the only part of your face he can see clearly, but since you can’t see where he’s looking, he doesn’t give a shit. He won’t get caught for staring. But he will for this.

“You got a little something on your cheek there,” he teases.

“Hahaha,” you laugh without humour. “I know there is. I got it already.”

“No, for real,” he says. “There’s still some on your cheek.”

“Then you get rid of it then,” you challenge, leaning forward. Without hesitating, Bucky swipes his thumb over the ice cream on your cheek, then licks it off.

“Thank you, you dumb shit,” you scoff, smiling a bit.

“You’re welcome, doll,” he smiles, sitting back in his seat. You shake your head at him, still in disbelief that this man is real.

“Unbelievable,” you say under your breath. You finish your ice cream in silence, but keep smiling at him. You swear, you could never be mad at him for any reason. He’s very cautious, reliable, and guarded. But at the same time, he’s easy-going, funny, and knows how to take care of himself. You trust him immensely, but you still need to take care of him at times, even if he doesn’t want it.

“Hey,” you say quietly, pushing your bowl away. You look over his shoulder, then behind you, making sure no one can hear. You lean forward, and motion him to do the same.

“If anything should happen, stick close to me,” you whisper seriously. “Don’t do anything and keep walking. Blend in with the crowd. However, if something happens that I can handle alone, do  _not_  go near me. I don’t want anyone to recognize you. Go to the parking garage or somewhere farther away from the scene. But do  _not_  help me, understand?”

He didn’t expect to hear you say something like that. It was always in the back of his mind when he was at the compound, but even more so now that he’s in public. He has to be more cautious than he ever was. He doesn’t want to cause you any trouble, nor break his good boy streak. He nods in understanding.

“If that’s what you want, then yes,” he agrees.

“I’m sorry to spring this on you,” you say. “I just never really covered anything about it with you before. I don’t know if anyone has. So just a little FYI for ya. I don’t mean to, like. Keep you away from the action or whatever. I just wanna keep you safe. It’s one of my many priorities, and I promised Steve that I would do it.”

“It’s okay,” he assures you. “It’s fine. I don’t want to get caught either. If it comes to then, then I’ll run.”

“Walk,” you correct him.

“Huh?”

“First rule of going on the run is don’t run, walk.”

“Got it.”

Now that you’ve gotten that out of the way, you lean back in your seat and take in the atmosphere of the market. You can hear people speaking in their native languages, see friends surprisingly running into each other, and customers paying for their food. You couldn’t ask for a better setting. Everything is popping with colour, the aromas from each vendor finds its way to your nose, and you’re sitting across from one of the most amazing men you’ve ever met. To top it all off, you’re friends with some of the most powerful men and women in the world. You’re extremely lucky to have this opportunity.

“You finished?” Bucky asks, pulling you from your thoughts. You look at him confused, and he nods towards your empty ice cream bowl.

“Oh, yeah.” You push it towards him and he goes to throw them away. When he stands up, you see a man staring at you from across the room. You pretend you’re looking elsewhere, but keep your eyes trained on him from behind your sunglasses. He seems… perplexed. He’s dressed like a regular civilian, so he seems like a friendly. He’s just sitting on a bar stool at a Salvadorian vendor eating his food, but he keeps glancing in your direction. He could be looking behind you, but you know when someone is looking at you directly. Nevertheless, you keep your guard up, even when Bucky comes back and sits down. Thinking quickly, you gather your purse from the ground and slide it over your shoulder.

“Hey, wanna go for a walk around the city?” you ask. When he doesn’t answer right away, you slightly nod to the side. He gets it then.

“Sure thing.”

He stands up again, and you hold onto his left arm as you start walking out of the place. You take one look behind you, and see that the man has left his seat. You don’t know where he went. You clear your throat and keep walking forward.

“How many?” Bucky asks lowly.

“One,” you say, as you step into the sunlight. “Don’t know how many others.”

You take a left on Hill Street, making your way to the crosswalk. You look behind you again, but there’s too many heads and faces to make out each one. If the man wants to talk, you’re sure you can handle that. But if he threatens you, then you’ll have to do something about it. And keep Bucky away from the public eye. You’re almost at the crosswalk when a man starts shouting from behind you.

“Excuse me! Excuse me, miss!”

There’s a bunch of women walking alongside you. He could be shouting for anyone.

“You in the overalls and fishnets!”

_Shit._

“Dammit,” you whisper to yourself. “Stay calm, Bucky. I got this.” You stop walking, keeping your grip on Bucky’s arm as you turn around and smile at the man from the market.

“Hello,” you start calmly. “Something I can help you with?”

“I was just wondering,” the man starts, catching his breath, “if you were the fire woman.”

You play pretend, and tilt your head, feigning confusion.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, smiling politely. “Who is this fire woman?”

“You haven’t seen?” he says, standing up straighter. He puts his hands on his hips, and Bucky tugs you closer to him. You put your free hand on his stomach, easing him to relax. “She’s the girl that put out an apartment fire up north! There was a video where she’s seen–”

You see several people peer over at you three the more this man talks. You don’t need any unnecessary attention drawn towards you and Bucky, so you stop his rambling early but putting your hand up.

“I’m sorry,” you interrupt. “But my boyfriend and I really need to get going. I don’t want to leave a bad impression on his parents for being late. And I am not the fire lady you mentioned. Sorry.”

“Oh, my apologies!” he says, letting you go. When you and Bucky start walking away, the man has one more question and shouts it after you. “What happened to your leg?”

You had forgotten that stitches leave behind scars. And even though this one isn’t as bad, it’s still pretty big and noticeable. You shrug indifferently.

“Accident!” you yell over your shoulder. You take the chance to speed-walk Bucky through the blinking red hand on the traffic light to avoid the man any further. You immediately cross the road and take 5th Street West. You look behind you again, and this time, you don’t see the man following you. You sigh a breath of relief and turn to Bucky.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” you laugh lightly. “I just didn’t want to be pressed about it and have other people listening in. Hope I didn’t tug you too harshly.”

“You call that ‘harsh tugging’?” he teases. “An old lady could’ve done better.”

“Well!” you defend, not really having anything to say. “I got you across the street, didn’t I? No complaining!”

He just laughs, keeping his grip on you. He doesn’t know if you mind that he’s still holding on to you, just like you are to him. Since you haven’t let go, he deems it reasonable to keep his arm linked with yours. It feels nice anyway, and reminds him of the good old days of having dames around his arms.

You two walk along, arms linked, making idle chatter, some teasing here and there. As you smile and laugh with him, you’re wishing that it could be like this everyday for him: having fun with his friends with a smile on his face, being carefree, and being satisfied with his life. You wish that Bucky could go out in public without fearing for his life, and the safety of everyone around him. You wish that you could take everything away, reverse everything that HYDRA programmed him to do. You wish that he could just be himself again. That Bucky is still there, but he’s been twisted in the vilest way and it makes you want to vomit. You told Steve that you’d kill for him. You weren’t lying. You wouldn’t hesitate slicing a few throats or burn people to death for him. And of course you’d take a bullet for him. Then again, if you have time to jump in and get shot, then he has time to move. Logic aside, it doesn’t matter the situation. You’re going to protect him with your life.

You pass by a lot of tall buildings, most of them apartment complexes or hotels. You come to a major intersection at 5th and Grand Avenue, and you find yourself looking up again. There’s a very tall white building beside a bank. The sun reflects off the glass, and you hover your hand over your eyes.

“Wow,” you say to yourself. When you cross the street, you see the letters “OUE” printed on the outside of the building. “OUE, OUE… Oh! Isn’t this that, um. Skyline thing or whatever? Skyplane? Skyspace!” Bucky just raises a brow and shrugs. He doesn’t know anything that goes on. “Come on! We should go in!” You bravely take his hand and pull him through the glass doors. You pay the daily fare, then make your way all the way up to the sixty-ninth floor with six other people.

You’re in awe when you step in the room. It’s huge, with windows lining the exterior. There’s benches and lounge chairs placed at each window, the rest of the room scarce. Just plain white walls and exposed ceiling, giving it an industrial feel. You let go of Bucky’s hand and walk towards one of the windows, and place your hand on the glass, looking over the city.

“This is beautiful, holy.”

Bucky comes up beside you, and sets the market bag down on the floor. He smiles as he looks at the city of L.A. with you. He knows this is the perfect opportunity to give you a cheesy compliment, like “the view isn’t as beautiful as you”, but he won’t do it. Despite this entire setting being completely convenient for him, he doesn’t want to spoil this experience for you. He knows that it might thrill you if he did say something along those lines, with your feelings towards him and all. But he doesn’t want to toy with you because he’s afraid to say it out-loud. But some time in the near future, he’ll have the courage to say it. For now, he’s reveling in the moment.

“I should’ve brought my camera,” you say, looking towards the horizon. “This would’ve made a great panoramic photo. Tch.”

Bucky smiles some more, and shoves his hands in his pockets. He peers at you from the corner of his eye, and has the strongest urge to just say something already. A compliment, a teasing gesture, some sort of skinship contact. So far, the most he’s done is link arms and hold your hand, all of which you initiated. It spares him the embarrassment of doing it himself, but he gets to enjoy it all the same.

After another minute, you drag him out to the observation deck, and you gasp at how much more beautiful it is. The sun hits your skin, and the wind whips your ponytail. You press your hands against the glass and look down below, your stomach dropping at the sight.

“Holy shit this is really high up,” you say, looking at the ant-sized civilians.

“Really?” Bucky says, coming up beside you. “Looking at the ground makes you realize how high up we are?”

“Pshh, shut up,” you smile, shoving his arm. “It’s a lot different looking down rather than up.”

You dig around in your purse and pull out your phone, then snap a few pictures before taking a panorama. It’d be better quality with your dSLR, but you’ll have to make do. An iPhone isn’t too bad, but editing that kind of file isn’t the same as a RAW. Nevertheless, that doesn’t stop you from taking a hundred pictures. You stand back and get one with Bucky in it, his back to the camera, looking at the skyline. You manage to snag one just as he’s looking back at you. You smile at him when he rolls his head in disapproval.

“Come ooon,” you whine. “You look great! Look!” You show him the photo, but he still seems unimpressed. You roll your eyes. “I don’t care if you don’t like it. I’m keeping it.” You keep snapping pictures, adding filters, and being a little bit more artistic with the angles. Bucky watches on, letting you do your photography thing. You go back to the glass railing and turn around to take a skyline selfie. You look at the photo before calling Bucky over.

“C’mere!” you say, motioning for him. He does, and you turn him around as well, then hold your phone out as far as your arm will reach. “Smile!” He does so softly, then puts his arm around you for another one. Your arm shakes from trying to hold it, so you ask a woman passing by if she’d take a few. She accepts, and you end up with nine perfectly amazing photos of you and Bucky together. She returns your phone, skim through them quickly, then tuck it away back in your purse. This truly is the cherry-on-top to an amazing day. Nothing could ruin it.

Knock on wood.

You two go back inside, and walk around the viewing room some more. A few more people have arrived, but you two are in your own little world. Not much is said verbally, but physically? Definitely.

Either out of safety or interest, you don’t know, but Bucky is arm-to-arm with you as you walk around the viewing room again. You can feel the heat radiating from him because of the close proximity. It may be 30, but the A/C in the room is enough to give you a chill. Being beside Bucky makes you feel cozy. Your hands may be a little clammy from wearing your gloves, but it’s a small price to pay to be ready for anything.

You yawn widely, and Bucky takes that as the sign to start heading back to the car. You hang onto your purse strap and Bucky flexes his gloved fingers around the market bag as you two get into the elevator and begin your descent. As you reach the thirteenth floor, the elevator shakes, then stops. You put your hand over Bucky’s chest and back yourself into the metal wall, trying to still your breathing. You’ve never been in an elevator that suddenly stopped moving. It’s times like these when small spaces are a curse rather than a blessing.

“Okay, it’s okay,” you tell yourself. “It’s all good.” Bucky squints at the emergency light blinking, then looks at the speaker where the operator announces that an error occurred and that you’ll be out soon. You stand up straight and pull the bottom of your overalls down, and put the strap of your purse over your neck to keep it secure. You wait quietly with Bucky, and you can see sweat rolling down his face. Either he’s really hot, or really anxious. You can probably guess which one.

After ten minutes, you’ve calmed down, but you’re still a little jittery. Being stuck in an elevator isn’t the most thrilling thing in the world. Bucky seems fine, but he keeps clenching his jaw. He’s just as nervous as you. You want to calm him down, but you’re too occupied thinking about what the hell’s happening. Suddenly, the elevator jolts, and the doors open to the thirteenth floor. You step out first, but then the building shakes from three consecutive explosions going off. You look back at Bucky, pushing him back inside the elevator when he tries to step out.

“Remember what I said,” you tell him. “You get downstairs. Don’t do anything unless you absolutely have to.”

“But _______,” he starts, “I think I should–“

“Bucky,  _no_ ,” you snap. “Get out of here. Now. I’ll handle this.”

You take your mask out of your purse and loop it around your ears. You shove your purse in the market bag and step out of the elevator.

“Go. I’ll be fine.”

He gives you a hard look behind his sunglasses. He bites his lip, thinking about disobeying you, but he knows that some of your trust for him will waver if he did. He nods firmly, then presses the button for the lobby.

“I’ll see you downstairs.”

You watch the doors close, and make sure the elevator is moving before making your way to the stairs. You have no idea why this perfect day had to be ruined, but you’re about to find out. You’re so pissed that you’re not going to take your time. Whoever did this, they’ll get no mercy.

There’s no one in the stairwell, but you can see smoke coming out from under the door leading to the eleventh floor. Having a gun would be very beneficial if the situation calls for it, but you’re hoping not. You’re not in the mood to be shot at again.

Once you open the door, thick, grey smoke engulfs your body. Your mask filters it out, but you’ve grown used to the choking smell to be able to repel it on your own. You tread through the smoke, trying to see through the thick haze. Wearing sunglasses inside isn’t always the best idea, but you want to make it harder for people to know who you are. Your hat helps to conceal yourself, but for now, you can’t see a damn thing. You take your glasses off and put them in the front pocket of your overalls, zipping it up securely. You flex the beak of your cap, and start when something shifts on your right. You crouch on the floor, then sneak your way over to the source of the sound. You startle when you see a man and woman laying against a wall. You rush over to them to check for injures.

“Are you okay?” you ask. “What happened here?”

Neither of them can answer. Their lungs are too full of smoke to give you a coherent answer. They cough, and you help them up, assisting them to the staircase. Once they’ve made it, you turn around and call out for anyone else. No one answers, but you survey the room one last time before going to the tenth floor. The structural integrity of the building is impeccable. You haven’t felt any tremours or unevenness in the floors. Yet, that’s the least of your worries. You’re not going back to the compound until you find the culprit behind this.

The room is scarce, except for four bulky pillars supporting the room. You concentrate for a second before fireballs produce in your palms to light the way. You take tip-toe steps, keeping your ears open for any sign of another presence. When you’re at the other end of the room, you turn around and start walking back. Your heart drops as the floor crumbles, and you go tumbling down to the tenth floor. You land hardly on your hip, but you manage to miss landing on a piece of debris. You yell out in pain, but it’s cut short when you look up and see a man in a stealth suit planting another bomb. You scramble off the floor and hide behind a pillar as he pulls out his gun and starts shooting. The ticking of the timer echoes off the walls, and you see it only has twenty seconds until it detonates. The man stops shooting as he escapes to the stairs, leaving you to the bomb.

You sprint over and pick it up, trying to figure out a way to dismantle it. You’re definitely no expert in this area, so the best you can do is keep explosion radius to a minimum by controlling the blast. You need to stop the man as fast as possible, and wasting precious time here is useless. But you can’t let another one go off. You plan to take all your energy and focus on controlling the impending heat and fire that will come with the explosion. However, you think of something completely different. With ten seconds left, you hold your right wrist and focus all of your energy into the side of your hand, heating it as fast as possible. Your heart is hot as in your chest as you wait until the lost possible second to slam your hand down and split the bomb in half. You can’t believe that nothing happens. No explosion, no burns, no nothing. You don’t have time to celebrate, because you don’t know if the man has any more bombs.

You fling the staircase door open and look down, over the railing. You can see the man still running down the stairs. You give it all you’ve got, skipping down steps and taking leaps to catch up to him. By the time you’ve reached the third floor, he’s already out the door to the lobby. You yell in frustration, and having another “fuck it” moment, you jump over the the railing from the second floor.

_Light feet light feet light feet light fe–_

You try to land on your toes like Steve to avoid crushing your ankle and for the shock absorption, but you end up rolling on your side. It doesn’t hurt much, but it’s better than having fractured heels. You get up, ignoring the pain in your side from falling through the floor, and sprint through the lobby and out the front doors. You’re covered in smoke and dirt, but you couldn’t care less about the looks people give you. The crowd is staring up at the Skyspace where pieces of the building are missing. You don’t have time to doddle around, and look left and right for the man. You see him running down 5th Street West, and go dashing after him. Then he takes a left down Flower Street South, ignoring the traffic signs and causing fender benders and T-bones as he runs across the street. You follow, eyes narrowed, and legs screaming. You push yourself to go faster. You cannot let him get away.

You see him take a sharp turn into City National Bank.

 _I do_ not _fucking think so._

You manage to catch up to him, and yell after him when you reach the inside of the bank. He stops and turns around, opening up his jacket zipper, showing you, and everyone in the bank, the bombs strapped to his chest. Your eyes widen in fear, and your slowly raise your hands to get him to calm down.

“Okay, okay,” you say softly, surveying the room. There’s bank tellers safely behind their desks, but there’s civilians scattered everywhere. Some of them don’t move, too terrified from seeing a suicide bomber. Others start to rush out the doors, but the man threatens to set the bomb off if they don’t stop. You’ve never talked down an offender before, so either you make this quick and hopefully painless, or you try to talk your way out of this. You choose the latter as a start.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say.  _Wow that sounded a lot like Steve_. “There’s no reason why we can’t take care of this like two civil people.”

“No! No civil!” the man shouts, holding up the trigger.

 _He sounds Russian_.

“Alright, alright,” you say, taking a few steps closer.

“Stop! No closer!” he says, hovering his thumb over the trigger.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “But I can’t do that. I can’t let you hurt these people. If you tell me why you’re–“

He presses the trigger, but nothing happens. It must be set after he releases it. Your shoulders tense up, and your purse your lips together. There’s no second guessing it now. You look at his chest, seeing all the wires connected to the bomb. You have no idea how they’re made, but you know heat is a factor. Right? There’s all sorts of hotwiring and chemicals involved, perfectly and intricately wound together. Without an exact spot to focus on, you push your energy around his whole body, then create a second ring centering the bomb. You slowly start raising the temperature around him. If he should release the trigger, then you’ll have encased the explosion around him instead of letting it loose.

“Why are you doing this?” you try again. Sweat drips down your forehead, your heart beats uncomfortably in your chest, and your knees shake. This is just like at the Transamerica Pyramid. But instead of doing the deed, this man is stalling. He’s sweating as well, and looks distressed. Could this be his first time doing something like this? Or maybe he’s done this before, and he was elected to be a suicide bomber? He seems uncomfortable and nervous, looking left and right. He looks scared. But it doesn’t matter. He could’ve killed someone with the bombs he planted at the Skyspace. You cannot sympathize with him.

The man stares hardly at you, now seeming more determined. You take a single step back from his change in behaviour. You keep raising the heat, and compress it deeper around his body. If he doesn’t set the bomb off, then you will; and hopefully sustain the blast. You’re about to try a different approach to get him to stand down, but he opens his mouth, and your eyes widen at what he says.

There’s no second chances now.

“Heil HYDRA.”

He releases the trigger, and you yell as you collapse the heat barrier, and shoot your hand forward, twisting your wrist, to control the blast. A gush of hot wind flows in every direction, and you go down on one knee, trying to contain the explosion. It’s powerful, more powerful than the ones used at the Transamerica Pyramid. Your hands shake from the effort, but you don’t give in. You can’t extinguish the flames too quickly or else you could lose control and unintentionally blow up the building. You scream at everyone to get out, and they go rushing past you, outside to the safety of the streets.

When you have complete control without worrying about collateral damage, you rise up from the floor and close your hands over one another, and glare hardly as the HYDRA agent burns to death.

“Good riddance.”

You pull your hands back quickly, and the fire dissipates. You pant hardly, and push yourself forward to make sure the man is dead and the bomb is out of commission. You shrug his body with your foot, and he doesn’t sit back up. The lights on the bomb have vanished, and the wires are obliterated. Out of superstition, you think about igniting a fireball in your hand and light up his body. His face is already unrecognizable, so there’s no harm in leaving no evidence behind. Forensics may be able to make an identification, so you lower your hands and leave him be. You start walking back outside, hands on your hips, catching your breath. You’re met with a round of applause, something you weren’t expecting. You sheepishly turn around, wiping away the dirt from your face before opening your pocket and putting your sunglasses back on. You tighten your ponytail and fix your cap, pulling it down lower. You don’t mean to be rude, but you’re not ready for the world to know who you are yet. You still have a family. You can’t put them at risk.

You lower your voice as you speak to several people, shaking their hands and accepting their gratitude. You almost start crying when a female bank teller comes up to you, bawling her eyes out from being so afraid. You comfort her as best you can, telling her that everything is fine now and that by the sounds of it, the police are on their way.

“Who are you?” she asks through her tears. You put your hand on her shoulder, gripping it tightly.

“Hellfire,” you reply proudly. You look up and down the streets, now worried about Bucky and if he got out okay. You didn’t have time to think about it while chasing down that HYDRA agent, but now that you’ve done your duty, you need to find him.

You start searching the crowd for a man with a bun and long-sleeves on. You go on your toes and turn all around, but you can’t see him. You hope he made it to the parking garage like he was supposed to.

“Hey, it  _is_  her! The fire lady!”

 _What the_ fuck _?_

You turn to your left and see the same man from before; the one who thought you were in fact the woman that put out an apartment fire a few months back. You curse under your breath, and part the crowd behind you before any news crews or police officers show up. A lot of people have their cellphones out, taking photos and videos of you sprinting down the street and out of sight. Some try to follow you, but you’re too fast for them. Only because you have to be.

You run through alleyways and through the crosswalks, not wanting to chance being caught at the scene. You didn’t do anything wrong, but your identity is everything to you. You search for the correct street signs, and bolt your way to the parking garage once you know where you’re going. You skid down the ramp going underground, and search for the black escalade. When you find it, you don’t see Bucky around.

“Bucky?” you harshly whisper. “Bucky? Are you here?”

When you don’t receive an answer, you enter the passcode for the car and sit in the driver’s seat. You take off your sunglasses and mask, and take a breath of fresh air. You set your hands on the steering wheel, and keep your eyes peeled for him.

“God, Bucky. Where the fuck did you go?”

“I’m right here.”

You scream in surprise and accidentally hit the horn as you turn around. Bucky’s in the back seat, laying down on his side, the market bag on the floor. You put your hand over your chest and wheeze from losing your breath.

“Bucky, you shit,” you say. “You scared me to death. What the  _fuck_ , man.”

Relaxing against your seat, you close your eyes and have a moment to yourself to calm down. You cannot believe that Bucky just did that. Of course, you’d rather him scare the hell out of you instead of someone choking you from the back seat. Once you’ve collected yourself, you take the time to fix your appearance. You shush Bucky when he tries to talk, wanting to have complete silence for a bit. You unclasp the top of your overalls, letting it fall in your lap. You open the glove box, and shift a gun around to reach for some wet wipes. You pull down the mirror and start wiping away the dirt and grime. In the meantime, Bucky gets out and moves himself to the passenger seat, watching you clean yourself up. You wipe your arms and parts of your legs next, then toss the dirty wipes into the cup holders. You take off your cap and take out your ponytail, shaking your hair for any leftover debris and soot. You sigh, leaning back in your seat, and blow some hair away from your face. You look like a mess. Once you’re finished, Bucky opens up again.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you answer softly. You ask about Bucky before he asks about you again. “How did you do? What happened after I left?”

He shifts in his seat, then removes his sunglasses for the first time today. He rubs his eyes and gets his thoughts together.

“I made it to the lobby,” he starts. “Once I got out, the employees were rushing me out of the building. I acted like everyone else, looking up at the blown out bits of the building before moving on. I slipped away from the crowd and made my way for the parking garage. I found the keys in your purse and waited for you to come back.”

You smile kindly, thankful that he did as you said. He didn’t have any complications, which is good. But whether he’s lying or not, you can’t tell. You’re too tired to make the effort.

“Thank you for listening to me,” you say. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, staring down at his hands. “And you? What happened?” You sigh again, running your hands through your hair. You don’t want to stay in this garage for too much longer, so you start it up and merge onto the streets, heading back to the compound.

“It was… weird, I think,” you say, a little unsure of yourself. “The explosions were on the eleventh floor. I got two people out, but then I fell through the floor. I’m gonna need some ice packs when we get back. The guy who set off the bombs was on the tenth floor, and had another bomb in place. I sliced it in half and went running after him. He ended up in the City National Bank, and had a bomb strapped to his chest. I tried to talk him out of it but… he went and blew himself up. I contained the blast and no one was injured. After that, I ran back to the garage to find you.”

“Did he say who he was working for?” he asks. “Or why he was doing this?”

You can go one of two ways to answer this question: tell Bucky it was a HYDRA agent and have him tense up and suggest never going outside again, or you could tell him that you didn’t know anything. Which is true, to a degree. The man didn’t say why he was blowing up the Skyspace, but with him being a HYDRA agent, is there really any question as to why? Most likely not. Sighing, you decide to just tell him the truth. You don’t want to keep secrets from him.

“He was a HYDRA agent,” you say coolly. “He wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk. Too busy trying to cause death and destruction. But he said ‘Heil HYDRA’ and blew himself up. He didn’t seem like he was looking for you though! He didn’t mention your name. Either he was acting on his own, or HYDRA sent him to fuck shit up. Either way, none of this has to do with you.”

Bucky leans his head against the window, and slouches in his seat. He really was having a great time with you, and then this shitshow had to happen. You’re unhurt, thank god, but without this blunder, he would have had the best day in his life. But of course not, because this is the life of Bucky Barnes. No matter where he goes or what he does, there’s always violence and death. And HYDRA. And quite frankly, he’s sick of it. He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, and wills himself to calm down.

_No one died. This isn’t your fault. This isn’t your fault._

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he says after some silence. “Besides falling through the floor.”

“Yeah,” you smile. “I think I’m getting used to this. It’s kind of exhilarating. Is that weird to say? I mean, I’m not  _excited_  about it, but I just get a rush of energy and I feel unstoppable.”

“No,” Bucky says, a smile creeping on his face. “That’s not weird.”

“Okay, good,” you breathe, laughing a bit. “I was worried for a sec that I’d be considered a thrill-seeker when really I’m just trying to do my job efficiently.”

Bucky smiles some more, then sits back up in his seat, and takes out his bun. He gives his hair a shake and slips his sunglasses back on. You take a quick glimpse at him and pout.

“I liked it when you had your hair up,” you whine, stopping at a red light. “It really suited you.”

“It was pulling my forehead back,” he complains, rubbing his hairline. “It was too tight.”

“You’re the one that put it up!” you laugh. “That’s your own fault. Try a looser bun next time.”

“’Next time’?” he repeats, turning towards you. “Are you implying that I’m gonna have to put my hair up like that again?”

“Why not?” you counter, turning left. “It’s a different look for you. And honestly. Who would be on the lookout for an assassin with his hair in a bun? How many assassins have you heard of that tied their hair back to take a shot? I certainly haven’t heard of any. Plus, you look good like that.”

You whisper that last part, sort of hoping that he  _did_  hear it. The radio is on low, but you spoke quietly enough that he wouldn’t be able to hear you. He doesn’t say anything back, but mostly because he was daydreaming about… certain things. You turn the radio up to fill the silence, and continue the way home peacefully. However, Bucky has a revelation, and whips his head around.

“What do you mean you sliced the bomb in half?!”

* * *

The energetic atmosphere from before had already returned the moment Bucky opened his mouth again. The car was filled with laughter and nothing but good vibes. But there was the nagging thought in the back of your mind that Steve was going to greet the two of you with a stern look on his face, ready to fire off with a lecture. You were hoping that he’d gone out on his own to do his own thing and not hear a word about what happened downtown.

Turns out, you were right on both accounts.

Steve  _had_  gone into the city as well, but he  _did_  hear about what happened. He was only a mile away when it all happened, in Chinatown. He ran to the site of the incident while keeping himself hidden at the same time. He saw you take care of things, which made him proud, but still worried. He didn’t see Bucky around, which just made him worry even more. But when he saw you and him charging up the driveway to the front doors of the compound, he was immensely relieved. But also still a little peeved.

“Okay, I know what you’re thinking,” you say as soon as you see the look on Steve’s face. “But I literally could  _not_  ignore it, Steve. I was two floors above where it happened. I couldn’t leave it alone.”

“I know, _______,” he says calmly, crossing his arms and looking towards the tile. “I’m not mad about you doing something. I’m just worried about these escalated crimes happening. It’s putting me on edge.”

“Oh.” You weren’t expecting that. Some light scolding maybe, but this is the first time you’ve heard Steve voice his concern about something other than you being reckless. You’re pretty worried about it too, because so far, they’ve all been associated with HYDRA. You fear that they’ll never go away as long as Bucky is out of their possession, but you promised yourself that you’ll never let them get to him. They’ll have to kill you first.

“I know,” you say. “They seem to be everywhere these days. Every now and then I listen to the news, but then I change the channel because I can’t listen to it anymore.”

You take the market bag from Bucky’s hand and make way for the kitchen to start putting everything away. Hopefully nothing got bruised.

“Bucky wasn’t in the spotlight,” you continue, putting the organics in the fridge. “I told him that if anything happened, get the hell outta dodge. And he did. He went straight to the parking garage and waited for me. Then we came straight home, just like I said.” You turn around, and Steve has a small smile on his face. You give him one back, and keep putting the groceries away.

“Other than that, it was a really nice day at the market,” you say quietly. You smile to yourself just thinking back. Thinking about Bucky’s smile, his hair, his laugh. Everything is, and was, prefect. You can hear Steve and Bucky speaking in hushed whispers, but you don’t really care. You’re just too excited about having a make-your-own pizza night. You hope Bucky lingers around and makes his own too.

Once all the groceries are away, you grab an ice pack from the freezer, and gingerly press it against your lower back. You unclasp your overall buttons again, letting it dangle in front of you. You gasp at how cold it is, and go flop on the couch so you don’t have to make the effort to hold it there yourself. You groan and smush your face into a pillow, then sigh contently at how comfy you are.

“What happened there?” Steve asks, walking over to the back of the couch.

“Fell through the floor,” comes your muffled reply.

“You fell through the floor?” he repeats, looking back at Bucky. He just shrugs and gives him an “I-don’t-know” look.

“Yeah,” you say. “And now, I am tending to my throbbing back. That’s how it works.” Steve sighs through his nose and leans over to squeeze the back of your neck. You scream from being sensitive and try to swat him away.

“What was that for?” you ask.

“Recklessness.”

“Well excuse me if I can’t help when the floor opens up and swallows me whole.”

“That’s no excuse.”

_This teasing bastard._

“I swear to god, Steven. I’ll choke you out right now.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

You fling yourself off the back of the couch and go running after him. You jump on his back and he starts spinning in circles, not really trying to pry you off his back. You wrap your arms around his neck and choke him just a little bit.

“Okay, Bucky. I got his neck, you get his legs.”

“Why the legs?”

“Because his stupid shield doesn’t cover his legs and that’s his weak spot. Right, Captain Dumbass?”

“Okay, okay, okay.”

Steve reaches behind him and grabs your sides, prompting you to scream in his ear and let go of him. You cover your hips with your hands and frown at him.

“You’re so  _mean_ ,” you whine, delicately squeezing your skin.

“Don’t jump on my back and choke me then,” he counters, giving you a hearty smile. “And I thought your back hurt. Doesn’t look like it to me.” You lean over the couch and pick up the ice pack, then press it against your back again.

“Yeah, well,” you say. “I can be sprung into action by the right amount of sass.”

“Really?” he muses. “Because I don’t see you go rushing after Tony when he gives you a little lip.”

“Oh, please,” you counter, blowing your lips. “I’m sparing him the embarrassment of being overpowered by me.”

“I guess that’s a fair bet,” Steve agrees. “I wouldn’t try it on him, though. He’s kinda touchy.”

“Like I didn’t already know that,” you scoff. “He probably would have countermeasures to make sure I wouldn’t be able to reach him.”

“He probably already does,” Steve guesses. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Well I certainly would.”

You hop up on the counter and kick your legs, and wince. You press the ice pack harder against your back and gasp at how nice it feels. Steve gives you a mildly concerned look, but you just brush him off.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you say. “I’d take this over a bullet wound any day.”

“You need any help with that?” Bucky finally chimes in.

“No,” you smile, flicking your eyes toward the floor. “I can manage.”

He nods, dropping his gaze at the floor, but he still peeks up at you. He stares at the front of your overalls hanging between your legs, the patch of skin from your shirt being bunched up, to the scar on your thigh. He’s not undressing you with his eyes; he’s just looking… and admiring. Steve certainly catches on, since he has a clear view of you and Bucky. He puts his hands on his hips and looks back and forth between you two, and smiles fondly when you look up and see Bucky staring. Steve raises a brow at Bucky before he begins his departure.

“Well that was fun,” he says, looking over his shoulder. “Let me know when you two would like some time alone in advance.”

Your eyes widen in surprise and mild annoyance when Steve gives the last word. Out of all the things to say, and  _that’s_  what’s on his mind? You want to punch him in the mouth. That way he won’t get to say another word from those pretty lips of his. Glaring at his back as he disappears down the hall, you quickly jump down from the counter and start making yourself some late lunch.

“D–“

“I’m making some lunch. Do you want anything?”

You cut Bucky off the moment he’s about to speak, not wanting to face whatever he has to say. If he had something to say about what Steve just said, you don’t want to hear it. A stiff atmosphere is not what you need right now.

“Uh. No, I’m okay thanks.”

You get to work on some oatmeal and fruit, preparing them in silence. Bucky stands there awkwardly, not really sure about what to do with himself. He pats his thighs, and purses his lips, looking at different points in the room.

“I’m just gonna go to one of the training rooms then,” he announces. You look over your shoulder and smile.

“Okay. I’ll see you at dinner. Bring your A-game.”

“Why?”

“’Cause we’re gonna make some pizza.”

“Oh. Alright. I’ll see you then.”

You smile appreciatively, then wave at him as he vanishes around the corner. You sigh tiredly through your nose once he’s gone, and think about what Steve said.

_‘Alone time’? Get a grip, Steve. We always have alone time._

You focus back on your lunch, and put a smile on your face by thinking about what Bucky’s going to look like when he’s making his own pizza.

After your lunch, you had a much needed shower. There’s a reasonably sized bruise on your back, but definitely not as bad as the first one. Being slammed into a cement post and falling through the floor are bound to have some mild consequences, but you’ve managed to get away unscathed each time. Either you’re lucky, or skilled at nailing a pathetic landing.

Tony passes you by as you lounge about in the living room. It’s amazing because you don’t see him around much. Well, maybe he’s a morning person and gets everything done then while you’re snoozing away until noon. You wave at him, but he doesn’t even acknowledge you. Through a hand gesture, anyway.

He tosses a pistachio at the back of your head.

“Hey, peanut,” he says, walking towards the couch.

“Hey!” you shout, finding the pistachio and throwing it back at him. “Hello to you too, Mr. Suit.”

Tony dons a suit today, minus the jacket. He looks like he’s going somewhere important. He cracks open a few shells before addressing you again.

“Feelin’ good these days?” he asks.

“Pretty good, yeah,” you answer honestly. “You?”

“Is there really anything to complain about?” he muses. You can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “Listen. I’m going to New York for a few days. Think you can stay out of trouble without me here?”

Ahh. The essence of arrogance. You’ve gotten to know him to the point where you can tell when he puts his ego first just to annoy the hell out of you. This is definitely one of those times. Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention back to the TV.

“I can manage,” you say. “Why are you going to New York?”

“Official Stark business,” comes his reply. You nod in understanding, and laugh along with your show. He takes your disinterest as his sign to leave, but he has one more thing to speak with you about being departing.

“By the way,” he starts. “I never really got around to asking this because I figured you’d come to me first. But have you chosen your alias?”

You perk up at the sound of that, and eagerly turn towards him. He looks like he’s in a hurry, or wants to be, so you give it to him straight.

“It’s ‘Hellfire’,” you say. Come to think of it, you didn’t get around to telling him your original choice, going along with the bird theme and matching Sam and naming yourself “Phoenix”, but you dropped that name when “Hellfire” seemed to fit you better. Threatening to some, but you interpret it as kicking ass while raising hell.

“Interesting choice,” he says, shaking his pistachio bag. He reaches in, pulls one out, and eats it before continuing on. “Nice to see you agree with us about originating from hell.”

“Hardy har har,” you mock, facing forward again. “It’s my name, alright? That’s what I’m going with.”

“No judgment,” he says, raising his hands in defence. “Sounds strong and powerful. I can run with that.”

“Oh, I am sure you can,” you agree. You look back at him, and he’s just staring at you. You put your ear forward, silently asking if he needs anything else. When he doesn’t say something, you wave at him. “See you when you get back, I guess.”

“Oh, right.” He seems to remember that he  _actually_  needed to be somewhere, and starts speed-walking to the entrance. “Catch you later, Hellfire.”

“Back at ya.”

Tony makes his leave, and you’re left alone again. You don’t even know who else is still at the compound, besides Bucky. Not many of them have passed through the kitchen and living room area, so you suppose they’re out in the city or in their own areas of the compound. Or maybe out of the country. But how often does that happen?

After your show is finished, you look at the time, and decide to start making dinner. But one very important person missing.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” you call out.

“Yes, _______?” she says.

“Where is Bucky?”

“He is returning from the showers.”

“Can you tell him to meet me in the kitchen?”

“Of course.”

She relays the message overhead, and it makes you smile. You excitedly roll off the couch and skip into the kitchen, diving into the fridge to grab all the ingredients for making pizzas. You eagerly greet Bucky as he walks in, putting all the vegetables and dough on the island.

“Hey!” you squeak.

“Hi,” he grins, looking at the counter. “This for the pizzas?”

“Yup!” you reply, counting everything to make sure it’s all there. “We got the dough, peppers, cheese, pepperoni, sausage, onions, and tomato sauce. Is that okay with you? I can check the fridge again if I don’t have any o–“

“This is fine, _______,” he says, holding his hand up. “This isn’t my first time.”

“Great! ‘Cause it’s not mine either.”

You pick up the dough and slap it on the counter, then rub your hands together in anticipation. You have a realization, then go grab two wooden cutting boards. You chuck them on the counter, and push one over to Bucky.

“Cleanliness is a virtue,” you say, splitting the dough in half. “And an asset.”

“It’s not the only asset,” Bucky mumbles to himself, accepting his half of the dough.

“What was that?” you ask, looking at him expectantly.

“Oh, um. J-Just that I agree it’s an asset,” he lies.

“Oh.”

You just smile at him and start spreading your dough on your cutting board. Bucky sighs a quiet breath of relief, and clears his throat before focusing on his own pizza. You spread yours out in silence, wanting to get this right. You know it’s not going to be perfectly round, but you can dream. As long as it comes out of the oven and deemed edible; that’s what you really care about. You beat it down with your fists, and push it away with the heels of your palms. You hum to yourself before getting the wooden roller and start flattening the dough. You hold it up, offering it to Bucky, but he shakes his head.

“I can manage.”

“If you say so.”

As you look down at your dough, you feel that you’ve forgotten something; just one thing that’s missing. You tap your fingers on the counter before having an “ohh” moment, and go searching through the cupboards again. When you find what you’re looking for, you slam it on the counter.

“Flour,” you smile, turning it around. “I knew something felt off. I tried to remember what photos of dough looked like, and there was all that white stuff around it.”

You open the bag and reach in, then flick some on your dough. You flop it upside-down and do the underside, then scatter some around the cutting board. You push the bag towards Bucky before getting right back to work. Bucky does the same thing, grabbing a handful and sprinkling it all over his dough, but instead of putting the extra back in the bag, he flicks it at your face. Your mouth drops in surprise, and you freeze. You’re in utter disbelief that he just did that.

“Bucky. Barnes,” you start slowly, wiping away the flour from your nose. “You did  _not_  just throw flour a–“

He flicks some more at you, sporting a toothy grin all the while. Most of it covers half of your face, and you blow your lips in attempt to get some of it off. You cock your head to the side sharply, and raise your hand to brush it away. You stare up at him and bite your cheek, daring him to do it again.

“Try it one more time,” you challenge. “I fuckin’ dare you.”

His grin only grows wider. He keeps eye contact with you as he reaches in the bag with his metal arm, grabs another handful, and slowly brings it back out, ready to fling it at your face. You lean closer to him, never looking away from his eyes. He licks his lips in anticipation, and you brace yourself, ready for the impact.

“If you’re too scared then I’ll–“

As soon as you mention him wimping out, he leans back and throws the entire pile of flour in your face. You gasp and spit some out and wipe your hands down your face. You thought you were ready, but apparently not. Once it’s gone from your eyes, you glare hardly at him.

“That’s it.”

You quickly reach over the counter and grab the bag of flour. Bucky immediately gets out of his seat and backs away from you. You grab a fistful and start throwing it at him.

“Get back here, Barnes!” you yell, watching the flour land in his hair. “I’ll dump this whole thing on you!”

“Gotta catch me first,” he teases, keeping his distance.

“Oh, you little–!”

You keep chucking it across the island, but most of it lands on his clothes. You growl in frustration, wanting nothing more than to smother his face in flour. Your chest heaves after running around, and you think of your next move. He’s got a few specks here and there on his face, some hanging off his eyelashes. You never thought he’d start a flour fight, but you’re secretly glad he did. You’ve always wanted to have one, and now that you’re in the middle of one, you couldn’t be happier. You don’t regret this at all.

You wait for the perfect shot, but he’s not going to let you have it. You want to just chuck the whole bag at him, but then you’d waste your opportunity. Instead of trying to attack him again, you stand up straight and lower the bag. You walk around the island to get back to your own side, Bucky doing the same. You never break eye contact.

You put the flour on the counter and push it away from both of you, but just close enough that you can grab it if the chance presents itself again. You blow your hair from your face, and hold your hand out.

“Truce?” you offer. Bucky looks at your hand, skeptical of your surrender. He narrows his eyes at you, and you maintain your innocence. He reaches forward with his metal hand, and shakes on it.

“Truce,” he agrees. You smile sweetly, and start kneading your dough again. Bucky keeps an eye on you and the flour, pondering if you’re lying to him. If it was him, then he’d definitely go back on his word for a little more fun. When you stretch your arm out near the flour his hands twitch, but as you pick up the wooden roller instead, he relaxes. Deeming it safe (for now), he spreads his dough out on his board and forgets about it.

As you get some spoons to spread the sauce, Sam comes into the kitchen, sweaty as ever, and makes way for the fridge. He gulps down his orange juice (his name was written on the carton) before addressing the state of you two.

“Well I can’t say I’m surprised,” he comments, regarding the flour all over your bodies.

“He started it, believe it or not,” you say, walking over to give Bucky his spoon.

“Really?” Sam says, overdoing his shock. Bucky refrains from rolling his eyes, but ignores Sam nonetheless. “Guess the goody-two-shoes persona doesn’t suit him well.”

“Oh, shove off, you,” you say. “A little flour never hurt anyone. And I got him back!”

“Barely,” Bucky adds, evenly spreading his sauce around. You give him a pointed expression, but he doesn’t even notice. He’s too immersed in his pizza-making. You peer at Sam, breaking out into a devilish grin. He smiles back when he sees where you’re getting at.

“Distract him,” you whisper lowly. He nods, then strolls over to Bucky, taking his juice with him. Bucky side-eyes him, but doesn’t give him much acknowledgment. You approach the island, and dump some tomato sauce on your dough as well, spreading it with your own spoon. You glance up at Sam, then nod at Bucky, telling him to get a move on. Truth be told, Sam doesn’t really know what to say to him. The two have some bad blood, despite having minor altercations together. But Sam will talk about worms if he has to to see you give Bucky a face full of flour. He leans his forearms on the marble, and turns his head towards him.

“So,” he starts, the atmosphere already awkward. “Those were some moves you did during the dance. I couldn’t believe you kept up with us.”

Bucky pulls a sour face at Sam, wondering why the hell he’s talking about that. He turns to you for any guidance, but you just shrug your shoulders, feigning innocence. You add some more sauce and wait for your chance to douse him in flour.

“Thanks, I guess,” Bucky mumbles. When he’s done spreading sauce, he grabs a knife from one of the drawers and starts cutting up a pepper. Sam gives you a stare that says “what-the-hell-do-I-do-now”, but you just egg him on with aggressive head nods. Sighing, he nods along and stands up straight. He’s not afraid of Bucky with a knife; in fact, he’s not afraid of Bucky at all. He’s just stiff and suffocated whenever he’s in the same room as him because they don’t get along very well. However, he can get along with him for five minutes for your sake.

He scrambles around for possible conversation starters in his mind, careful not to bring up anything too sensitive. He knows Bucky can handle himself, but there’s a difference between being an asshole and triggering him. Bucky’s not made of glass, but Sam knows what it feels like to have an unwanted memory resurface because of something someone said. Nevertheless, Sam approaches him with the same cocky smile and sarcastic demeanor.

“However,” he muses, smiling widely. “I think you were slacking the most during practice.”

 _Oh my_ god _Sam, you know that’s not true._

“Think so?” Bucky questions, irritated. “Because I remember you being the first one to tuck tail and run the moment practice was over. And that you complained the most.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Sam says, now on the defensive. “I don’t think I did the most complaining. Steve was pretty–“

“Oh don’t even try to pin it all on Steve,” you interject, giving Sam a cheeky smile. “You  _were_  the one that complained the most. You were up and out to the weights room the second I said we were finished.”

“Gimme a break, Spyro,” he pleads. “I wasn’t meant to dance, alright? All the weird positions and girly movements just isn’t my style.”

“I’d say it’s your best look yet,” Bucky chimes in. He doesn’t cower under Sam’s scrutinizing gaze. “Feeling out of place and embarrassed is certainly a better look than condescending and smug.”

“You better watch your mouth,” Sam strikes back. He tones down his irritation to avoid a fight, because he knows that’s not what you want. “Maybe so. But I’m just poking fun at you, Barnes. No harm, no foul.”

“And I thought I made it perfectly clear that I was as well,” Bucky quips, sprinkling his pizza with peppers. He gives Sam a quick smile, which makes Sam smile in return.

_Isn’t this a rare sight. They’re bantering._

You realize you don’t have that much time left, so you quickly grab the bag of flour when Bucky’s looking at Sam. You quietly spread it apart, and hold it comfortably in the palm of your hand. When Sam makes another wisecrack and Bucky falls for it, you cheerfully call out his name.

“Hey Buckyyy.”

“What is i–“

The moment he turns to face towards you, you shove the rest of the flour in his face. A lot lands in his hair, and he’s frozen in place, processing what just happened. You and Sam burst out laughing, giving each other a high-five as Bucky shakes his head and wipes his eyes. He scowls at you, and you give him a cheerful grin.

“You lied to me,” he says, pitting out some flour.

“You,  _lied_  to me?” you heartily mock. “You know I couldn’t let you finish decorating your pizza without giving you your comeuppance.”

“Gotta hand it to you, Spyro,” Sam beams, slapping a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You just made my day.” Bucky shrugs Sam off, prompting him to laugh some more. Sam picks up his juice and begins to make his leave.

“I’ll see ya later, Spyro,” he says. “You too, Flakes.”

Bucky rolls his eyes in annoyance at Sam’s new nickname for him. Bucky offers a lazy wave of his hand as Sam departs, leaving you and Bucky alone again.

“I think that one’s going to stick,” you comment. “’Flakes’. I can totally see it being your identifier.”

“I don’t think so,” Bucky snorts, running a hand through his hair. More flour falls from his hair, and you sigh contently.

“I should’ve known,” Bucky sighs. “It was too obvious. There are no truces when it comes to food, is there?”

“Right on the mark,” you say, giving him some finger guns. “Now we’re even.”

“And I just showered too,” he mumbles.

“So did I!” you say, blowing some extra flour on the counter at him. “Doesn’t feel nice, does it?”

“No! It’s just–ugh!”

He keeps shaking his hands in his hair, and you watch on smugly as the flour floats down to his shoulders. You shake your head at him, laughing through your teeth. When he’s getting too frustrated, you take matters into your own hands.

“Oh, come here, you doofus.”

You round the corner of the island and stretch your arms out, brushing the flour off his shoulders and getting as much as you can out of his hair. It’s still a little damp, so the flour is sticking to him quite well. You click your tongue in annoyance, but you don’t really mind. You get to touch Bucky’s hair. That’s always a plus. Bucky sighs impatiently, flicking his eyes at you. There’s a considerable amount of flour in your hair as well, so he brings his hands up and starts shaking your hair too. You start sputtering when some falls into your mouth, and even produce a sneeze when the puffs of flour shoot up your nose.

“Bless you,” Bucky chuckles.

“Thanks,” you sniffle, rubbing the underside of your nose. You inspect his hair again, but you’ve done all you can. “You’re gonna have to take another shower. I can’t get anymore out.”

“Perfect,” he scoffs. “You’ll have to take another one as well. ‘Cause that stuff isn’t going anywhere.”

“Oh, and I wonder whose fault that is,” you say, putting your hands on your hips.

“You know very well whose it is,” he challenges, taking a step towards you. “It’s your fault.”

“ _My_  fault–listen here,  _Bucko_ ,” you begin, pointing a finger in his chest. “ _You’re_  the one that decided to start this flour war.  _You_ made the first move. I just counteracted like anyone else would. So don’t go telling me that it’s  _my_  fault you look like a powdered donut.”

Bucky smirks smugly at you, and slowly eases his face towards yours. You don’t move, but you’re hyper aware of how close he is to you now; you’re almost nose-to-nose. His hair sweeps forward and tickles your cheek, so you lean back a bit to keep some space between you two. The ambiance feels incredibly different now, more intimate than anything. You could kiss him right now if you wanted to. Well, you  _do_  want to, but it’d be totally inappropriate. You have no idea how he feels, so you’d be taking a giant risk if you had the guts to show him how you feel. He stops inching closer to you when he sees how far back you’ve bent yourself. He looks straight in your eyes and whispers.

“It’s still your fault.”

You resist the urge to look down at his lips, because that’d be too blatantly obvious. Instead, you keep your eyes locked on his, and slowly push yourself upwards. Bucky backs away as you do so, but he still makes himself look big by stretching out his neck. You boldly lean into him this time, but instead of kissing him, you whisper in his ear.

“Finish your pizza, Flakes.”

You smile as you pull away, the tension easing off your shoulders as you look back down at the counter to finish making your pizza. Bucky sighs, slightly disappointed, but he didn’t think you’d take his bait anyway. He stands by his end of the counter, and starts shredding some cheese. He knows he’ll get another chance. It’s only a matter of time before he finally reveals himself to you.


	14. Midnight Memories

_August 10 th_

It’s been a busy five days in the compound.

Tony hardly ever mentions why he goes to New York every now and then, but you just suspect that he has his business to take care of. This time though, he actually told you why he went. Turns out, he was planning on officially introducing you into the Avengers, and was planning a little party to celebrate at the Avengers Tower in New York. You had no idea that there was an actual ceremony or whatever to be introduced into the Avengers as a full-time member, so you were mildly surprised when Tony told you everything that entails. Given the fact that you’ve been operating with them for nearly three months now, you guess that a little press conference couldn’t hurt. Besides, you’ve been caught on camera a few times; might as well let the public know what’s going on.

You stand in your room, dressed head-to-toe in your suit, mask and all. Your hair is tied up, and you keep fiddling with your gloves. You twist and turn as you look at yourself in the mirror. Everything is in place, but you’re a little worried, if you’re being honest with yourself. There’s no guarantee that someone in the press room is going to recognize you as  _you_. They could all be strangers from across the city and out of state. As long as you keep your face covered and let Tony do all the talking, everything should go over smoothly.

Fingers crossed.

And since there’s going to be a mount of reporters in the compound, Bucky can absolutely not be seen. At all. Under any circumstance. The safest place for him is in his room, and as far as you know, he’s in there right now. You haven’t seen him all day because of the press conference, but it’s for the best. Better for him to be safe rather than sorry.

“Let’s go kid,” Tony says, knocking on your door.

“Just a minute!”

You take one last look in the mirror. There are no eyelashes in your eyes, your ponytail is tight, and your uniform is spotless. Your mask is fit securely around your face, and your boot laces are double knotted. You take one long, deep breath before leaving your room and following Tony down to the main floor. Tony talks to you on and off the whole way until you’re standing in front of the doors to the east wing main ballroom. You can hear everyone murmuring inside, and your heart thumps in your chest.

“Listen,” Tony starts, putting a hand behind your back. “There’s fifty reporters behind those doors. Real ones, not bloggers. When you’re ready, I will introduce to the world, the newest, official member of the Avengers: Hellfire.”

You can only nod in response, and force your nerves to calm down. Tony notices your anxiety, and tries to calm you down a bit.

“You’ll be fine,” he reassures you. “I’ll be doing all the talking while you stand off to the side. I know every answer to every question, and know how to smoothly change the subject. Trust me. You won’t be in the spotlight.”

Just then, a woman with orange hair wearing a white dress emerges from the room, looking quite distressed. You recognize her immediately.

“What’s going on?” she asks, eyes towards Tony. “Everyone’s waiting for something spectacular to happen.”

“Oh my god, you’re Pepper Potts.”

You speak without thinking because you’re so entranced. She’s a huge figure of authority (to you at least), and you’ve never met her before. She seems to be in charge of the conference, given the fact she just left the room. She gives you a glance when you acknowledge her, her expression never changing.

You feel like an ant under a magnifying glass under her gaze.

“I-I’m sorry,” you say, looking at the floor. “I just haven’t… met you before and I blanked. Sorry.”

“Is this her?” she asks Tony, her tone still the same.

“All in one piece,” he says.

“Let’s get this going then,” she says, rushing you in. She gives you a handshake and a friendly smile as she leads you inside the press room. “I apologize for being so forward. But they’ve been waiting.”

“I get it,” you say. “I’ll do my best.”

The moment Pepper opens the doors, there’s flashing from every direction. You keep your head down and away from the photographers as Pepper leads you up to the podium, Tony following close behind. The reporters are shouting and pointing their recorders and microphones at you, while the news crews monitor your movements with their cameras. You feel like you’re being scrutinized by everyone, but it’s probably their job. You stand with Pepper, behind the podium, and let Tony take the lead. He raises his arms to calm the crowd, but some journalists are still shouting their questions. Some of them don’t even have to do with the purpose of this press conference.

“What do you have to say about the rise in crime in the Los Angeles area?”

“When can we see the newest suit to the Iron Man collection?”

“What are the Avengers doing to stop global domination?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes to save face. You can’t have the public see your sassy and annoyed side. They would start attacking you the moment your eyes settled. You just keep your eyes trained on Tony, and listen intently to what he has to say.

“There are no cue cards this time, in case you were wondering,” he starts, referring to the time he identified himself as Iron Man. There’s a small, collective chuckle from the crowd before Tony gets down to business. “Speculation has arisen that there has been a strange woman living here at the Avengers compound and not paying rent. I am here to put those rumours to rest.”

You sigh at Tony’s little poke of fun at you. You know it’s part of what makes Tony who he is, and lord knows you hate him sometimes for it. But you just smile underneath your mask. Hopefully he won’t go overboard.

“It’s true,” he says. “Though she has no reason to pay rent. Because she is a new addition to the Avengers team.”

The room goes into an uproar, everyone getting out of their seats to shout more questions. Tony goes on, speaking over them.

“She had to be deemed fit to be a part of this team,” he continues. “We evaluated her skills and attributes to determine if she was a good fit. Not anyone can just join us. She’s gone through extensive training, is calculative, and thinks quickly on her feet. I’m sure she can be seen in low-quality videos shifting through the internet fulfilling her good deeds. We recruited her a few months ago, after viewing her putting out an apartment fire by herself. Since then, she’s become a valuable asset to this group and will continue to be for the foreseeable future. Ladies and gentleman, may I humbly introduce, Hellfire.”

Pepper smiles at you and gives an encouraging nod as you sheepishly step forward. You stand beside Tony, and let your eyes wander around the room. Reporters and journalists begin their shouting match again, their bodies turned in your direction. You can’t make out any questions clearly because they’re being thrown at you so rapidly. You remain stoic, and fold your hands behind your back.

_Head up. Chest out. Legs apart. Eye contact. You’re the boss. You’re not submissive._

You mutter comforting words to yourself as you try to filter out all the unnecessary noise everyone is making. The clicking of pens, the tapping of feet, even people scratching their skin. You stare straight ahead, and endure this fiasco to let Tony take the wheel. He first casts a glance your way to see if you’re doing alright. When he sees you putting on a brave face, he smiles before moving onto questions. The first one is to be expected.

“What is her ability?”

“She describes herself as a pyrokinetic,” Tony explains. “She is able to create, control, and manipulate fire, flame, and heat. She’s our portable fireplace.” A few laughs resonate through the crowd before someone wants to see a demonstration. Tony leans against the podium and gestures to you, letting you do your thing. You nod and hold your arms out, and produce flames that go up your forearms. Some people lean back in their seats, already feeling the heat. You tone it down a bit, and opt to not tease the crowd by producing fireballs and circling them around their heads. You evaporate the flames and stand with your hands behind your back again. Tony looks at the crowd, visibly amused, and points to another reporter.

“Why is she hiding her face?” You do an eye roll over to Tony to let him explain. He’s a little sassier when it comes to things like this. Less aggressive, unlike you. “Well like any great superhero that still has friends and a family, it’s important to protect your face in order to protect them. She’s not ready to let the world know who she is. And anyone who says otherwise can leave the room right now. Next.”

“Her suit is designed by you, Mr. Stark?”

“That’s right.”

“Why does she resemble the number one assassin in recorded history, the Winter Soldier?”

You widen your eyes at that one. You give the reporter an incredulous look, and turn to Tony for help. Even though Tony’s touchy about that subject, he deals with it calmly and smoothly.

“Like I said,” he starts, his voice firm. “It helps to protect her identity. The mask is an essential part of her uniform, as it filters out smoke and potentially dangerous and poisonous substances. As she is the only one capable to withstand temperatures climaxing to 3000 Kelvin, she needs the most safety precautions as part of her attire. She is more flexible in a one-piece suit, and can maneuver with ease. And I do not see the resemblance between her and that assassin. Need I go on?” The reporter sits back down, slightly flustered. Tony gets right back on track and points to another person.

“If she was a good fit and has been with the Avengers for this long, why wait a prolonged period of time to make an official statement about her arrival?”

“Again, she was being trained,” Tony explains. “Furthermore, just because you’re gifted with a certain amount of power, doesn’t mean you get a special invitation to join the Avengers right away. You have to… prove yourself, so to say. Help give us a reason to include you in this band of misfits. That’s how it was with all of us. We were approached, evaluated, and offered the chance to be a part of the team. Miss Hellfire here went through the same process. As for the amount of time we waited to introduce her… call it another assessment. She has dealt with four separate incidents in and out of the Los Angeles area. Only two casualties have been recorded in all occurrences, not by her doing. She is a fundamental part to this team, and will continue to be as long as she’s with us.”

“Mr. Stark. Aren’t you worried about the possible collateral damage that comes along with an individual with literal fire power? How much control does she have over herself?” Tony seems to be getting a little aggravated at these ridiculous but completely rational questions, given by his weary facial expressions. Nevertheless, he answers it with professionalism.

“Trust me,” he says. “If any of us were in immediate danger, we keep fire extinguishers at the ready. She is not a danger to herself, nor anyone else. She has an incredible amount of control over her power. We are not concerned.”

“Can you tell us about the events that occurred recently at the Skyspace in downtown Los Angeles?”

“I was not present during that incident,” he answers. “I do not know the details, nor do I have the authority to give comments.”

“Maybe Hellfire could speak for herself on this one,” one reporter suggests. Tony backs away from the podium, and turns to the side to let you take the lead if you’re willing. Pepper seems a little anxious, but she still gives you an encouraging smile. You nod at Tony, and take your place at the podium. You do not remove your mask as you speak.

“I took a trip to downtown Los Angeles on the afternoon of August 5th to take a tour of the OUE Skyspace,” you explain calmly. “I was in the elevator when it unexpectedly failed. I heard three consecutive explosions, and descended from the thirteenth floor to the eleventh floor where I followed the suspect out to the streets. I destabilized a bomb he planted, and chased him down to the City National Bank. He turned out to be a suicide bomber, and killed himself before I had the chance to question him. I supressed the explosion by… wrapping him in hotter air, so to say.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well. I, uh. This is a little difficult to explain. Um. I concentrated my energy around his body to prepare myself if he set off the bomb. Explosions happen in the blink of an eye, so by taking control of the heat surrounding him, it allowed me to be ready for when the impending fire and heat from the bomb escaped.”

“Why could you have not talked him down, or took the opportunity to kill him yourself before he went on the run?”

_Jeez these guys are brutal. Now I know how Tony feels._

“He did not give me much of a choice,” you say, sounding a little fed up. You clear your throat and continue on in a polite manner. “I tried to talk him out of it, but there was not enough time. Furthermore, I could not take him down without putting innocent civilian lives at risk. I needed him isolated, but he did not give me much of a choice in location either. I cleared the bank before he took action, and no lives were lost that day. There were minor injuries, but nothing fatal.”

“What about the incident in San Francisco?”

“Are any of these events related?”

“Should the city of Los Angeles be on high alert?”

“The people have the right to know what’s going on!”

You stand still and keep your mouth shut as everyone keeps shouting their questions and making their claims. You stare blandly at the crowd, lazily sifting your eyes over their faces. You don’t recognize anyone, but given the fact that these people came from all over the country, you weren’t expecting to see someone you knew.

Unfortunately, you’re proven wrong.

In the back corner of the room, you see none other than Phil Coulson himself, the agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. that almost got you killed that one time. You have no idea why he’s here; maybe to see how you’ve progressed since that particular mission. Or maybe just for amusement. He probably wouldn’t miss your introduction for anything. You narrow your eyes at him, and he just nods his head. You shift your focus on Tony now, silently asking him to take his spot back so you don’t have to listen to these people anymore. He steps forward, and you join Pepper at the wall.

“We won’t be taking anymore questions at this time,” he says. “As far as we know, these events are not related in any way.”

_Finally. He’s wrapping it up._

“This will conclude the press conference. Once again ladies and gents, Hellfire.”

Tony opens his arm to you, and you stand beside him as the photographers take their photos. You keep your eyes trained on Phil, however. To be honest, he’s the safest one in this crowd. Apart from the deviousness and lying, he’s the only one you trust after Tony and Pepper. Reporters can be shifty sometimes, twisting words and spreading false information to make their story bigger and better. But you’re not about that life, and you’re not going to let it happen, nor ruin you, if it comes to that.

“Alright. Let’s go, champ.”

Tony leads you out of the press room, and you take the biggest sigh of your life. You put your hands on your thighs and take deep breaths.

“Well,” you say, swallowing thickly. “I didn’t think it’d be that intimidating. Apparently I was wrong.”

“You get used to it,” Tony says. “You did great in there, kid. Props.” Pepper gives Tony a “what-the-hell” kind of look, and silently urges him to do more. He obliges, and awkwardly gives you a pat on your back. “Really, _______. You did great. Take some time for yourself now. They’ll be here for a while, so you may have to stay dressed like that until they leave.”

“I’m sure you can think of something to convince them to depart earlier than planned,” Pepper chimes in sweetly. “It’s best not to have stragglers wandering the facility and have unwanted eyes in private places.”

You have no idea if she’s hinting at Bucky being kept in the compound. You don’t see a reason why she  _does_  need to know about him, but then again, it’s  _Pepper Potts_. She’s much more than Tony’s on-again off-again partner, because she’s the current CEO of Stark Industries. But there is a lot of information at the compound that is kept from the public for security reasons. Surely she’s talking about that. You wonder now if “official Stark business”, as Tony would tell you whenever he left for New York, meant that Tony was seeing Pepper. It’s a safe bet. But you’re not about to question him about it in front of her. You stand up straight again and put your hands on your hips.

“I’ll just go back upstairs,” you say, still not one hundred percent sure. “Ummm. Call me, I guess? If you need me for anything.”

“Will do,” Tony says, giving your back a small slap. “Now get outta here before someone named Phil gets to you.”

“Why would he–“

“Get a move on!”

“Okay, okay! It was nice meeting you, Miss Potts.”

“Likewise, _______.”

You follow Tony’s order and start making your way back upstairs. You don’t look behind you, nervous that you’ll see something you don’t want to. Tony wraps an arm around Pepper’s waist, and watches you ascend the stairs.

“She seems to be doing well,” Pepper comments. “No red flags, no deaths made while on her account, she plays well with others. She seems to fit right in.”

“Yeah, she’s a good little fireball,” Tony says as you disappear. “She clicks well with everyone. Even me.”

“Even you?”

“Even me.” Tony smiles at Pepper, and she smiles back. They share a private moment together before Phil Coulson approaches them.

Back upstairs, you hide in the safety of your room, and close the blinds over your windows. You never know who could be roaming around in the backyard with their camera. You double-check to make sure nothing and no one can see into your room, then take off your mask. You breathe in the fresh air, and sit down on your bed. It was a little frightening to be in a room full of people looking for answers that you weren’t sure you could give them. Questions about yourself you can handle, but when it comes about widespread panic, that’s more up Tony’s alley. You hear a knock at your door, and instinctively put your mask up back to your face.

“Who is it?” you ask.

“It’s me,” Bucky answers.

“Oh. Come in.”

As he opens the door you lower your mask and put it down beside you. He closes the door softly and leans against the wall. He’s dressed a little more normally today: jeans and a long-sleeve shirt instead of sweats and a tanktop. He must still be nervous about this many unfamiliar people at the compound; you can see it in his eyes. You smile softly at him.

“How did it go?” he asks, crossing his arms.

“Okay,” you reply. “I let Tony do all the talking until I had to step up for a minute to explain myself.”

“About what?”

“When we went to the market. I didn’t mention that I was with anybody, so they don’t know that you were with me. I made sure of that.”

He approaches you, and sits down beside you when you move over to make room. He folds his hands together, smiling warmly.

“I’m sure I’ll see how well you handled them when they play the press conference again later today,” he teases.

“Shut uuup,” you smile, nudging his arm. “I didn’t panic, I didn’t cry, and I didn’t lie. Mostly. I just did my job and looked pretty for the cameras.”

“How could they see how pretty you are with that mask on your face?” he says.

“Can’t let them know who I am,” you say matter-of-factly, completely ignoring his compliment. “They might be ready to know who I am, but I am not. And like Tony said, I still have friends and a family to worry about. It’s the right thing to do to keep them safe.”

“You’re doing a great job, you know,” he says. “If I haven’t told you already.”

“You know what,” you say, mulling it over. “I don’t think you have. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he grins. “You were already doing a great job before you came here, I hear. Four months of keeping your identity and power under wraps? That’s pretty impressive, even with that loosey-goosey piece of fabric you had at the time.”

“That is a  _relic_ ,” you say, feigning being hurt. “It’s been with me through thick and thicker. I still have it, too. It hasn’t been washed in a while though. So it’s kinda nasty.”

“Can I see it?” he asks.

You nod, then get up and search through your dresser, palming the bottom of the drawers until you can feel the stiff fabric under your fingers. You hold it with your finger through one of the loops, and dangle it in front of his face.

“I got it when I was eighteen, believe it or not,” you say as he turns it around in his hand. “It’s been with me ever since. I bought three at the time, but I wore that one the most because it was just plain black. The other ones are more fashionable.”

Without even smelling it Bucky can tell it needs to be washed. There’s stains on the inside of the mask. Some of it dirt, but mostly makeup. He can smell some leftover ash and smoke. He raises a brow, then hands it back to you.

“It certainly is vintage,” he comments. “I can see it in a glass case on display already.”

“Oh, stop it,” you say, gently whipping his arm with it. You put it back in its resting place and close the drawer. “I don’t really have a need for it anymore, but it’s still a nice reminder of how I started out. No matter how much we grow, I think we need at least one thing from our past to remind us of how far we’ve come.” You look over your shoulder at him. He’s smiling sadly, and it makes your heart lurch for him. “Sorry. I know that sounds stupid but–“

“It’s not,” he cuts you off. “I, um. A few weeks after I came here, Steve found and gave me my dog tags from the war. Whether he found them or  _stole_  them from some exhibit, I honestly didn’t really care. All I cared about was having a part of myself back. I felt like I could remember more when I held them.”

“And could you?”

“Sometimes. Bits and pieces, maybe someone speaking, or even a smell. All that mattered is that I was able to remember me as  _me_  before I was captured. Again.”

It’s moments like these with Bucky where you have no idea what to say. The tone of his voice, his posture, his facial expressions. The way he talks about himself before and during the war is like a sad reminiscence, but it’s like trying to remember what you did when you were four years old. The smallest of flashbacks are there, but it’s not a complete picture. Trying to place names and dates without really knowing the truth. It’s a difficult thing to try and piece back together. But Bucky’s come a long way since his time as the Winter Soldier. He’s bettered himself, and he’s reconnecting with the world, albeit in a tiny way. But he’s trying. You sit down beside him again and give his shoulder a squeeze.

“You’ve come a very long way, Bucky,” you start, hoping this comforts him. “I’ve never seen someone with this much perseverance in my whole life. You’ve been through so much, yet you always put forth a smile at least once a day. You know, I just… I try to think of comforting things to say to you when I see you in a slump, but nothing ever comes out. I tell you a thousand times that you can come to us if you’re having problems. But I know that some things have to be left unsaid. I would know. Anyway, I–god I can’t even–j-just, you gotta keep telling yourself to put aside the Winter Soldier, and become who you were born to be.”

“And what’s that?”

“You have to figure that out for yourself. If you spoke with your younger self, what would  _he_  want you to be?”

Bucky lowers his head and stares at the floor, mulling it over in his head. What  _would_  his younger self want him to be? His first thought is a soldier, because that’s literally what he wanted to be. Another thought is a protector. He’d been protecting Steve for a while against anyone that tried to bully him or steal his money. And another one is to just be himself. Charming, easygoing, caring, swanky guy that he was. But he’s not that person anymore. And to be honest, he doesn’t know what he wants himself to be. For now, he just wants to stay sane.

He doesn’t give you a verbal answer, but you weren’t expecting one anyway. You just wanted to remind him of how remarkable he is. You drop your hand from his shoulder and blow your lips.

“I’m gonna be bored for a while,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “I have a feeling not even Tony can make these reporters go away.”

“Maybe I should go down there,” Bucky jokes. “I’m sure they’d all disperse if I looked at them the wrong way.”

“Is it bad to say that that actually sounds funny?” you ask hesitantly, smiling just a bit.

“Prrrobably,” Bucky admits. “But I won’t. It’ll just cause inexplicable trouble for everyone.”

“I wasn’t about to let you,” you say. “You’ll just have to stay in your room for the remainder of the day. Or until those fucks downstairs have the brains to clear out before I make them.” Bucky’s lips quirk up into a smile when you speak so vulgarly and violently. It’s such a contrast to your usual behaviour, and he can’t help but laugh at the change.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he says. “It’s nothing.”

“Okay then.”

You reach for your mask and pull it back on, making sure it’s secure around your ears. You’d rather not wear your suit all day, but it’s an opportunity to get used to it. You haven’t worn it out in the field yet, so testing its movements and durability isn’t such a bad idea. It sucks that Bucky has to be cooped up in his room all day, but there’s no other choice. You plan to visit him throughout the day, chatting him up and bringing him something to eat. Maybe teach him a thing or two about anything he’d like. But for now, you need to keep yourself busy.

“I’m gonna go to one of the training rooms,” you announce, getting up on your feet. “Might as well get the most out of my suit. I guess I’ll see you later, Bucky.” You smile at him, even though he can’t see it. You squeeze his shoulder again as you walk by, and tip toe out into the hallway, then disappear to the elevators. Bucky lingers in your room for a little bit, seeing how well you’ve accustomed to living here. There’s a slight clutter on top of your dressers, your electronics dominate your glass desk, with assorted wires hanging out the back. Besides those things, your room is pretty bare. But the one thing that really stands out for him are the phrases written on the wall beside your bed.

He’s not in your room much, but on the off-chance when he is, he sees a new quote added to your collection of motivational sayings. You have a lot of wall space, and you’ve been making the best use of it. He stands up to get a good view of the whole wall, muttering some of the sayings.

“Fall down seven times, stand up eight.”

“If it doesn’t challenge you, it won’t change you.”

“Your only limit is you.”

“Do no harm but take no shit.”

“The struggle you’re in today is developing the strength you need for tomorrow.”

“If you don’t sacrifice for what you want, what you want becomes the sacrifice.”

That last quote really resonates with him. He’s been trying to think of ways to tell you, in the least juvenile manner possible, how he truly feels. He didn’t know if he would be able to get back into the game, considering what he’s done. He knew he was attracted to you soon after he left Wakanda, but he pushed that aside because it wasn’t his primary focus. It was to stay hidden and not cause trouble. But over time, he couldn’t deny it anymore. He was nervous about expressing himself because it’s been decades since he even looked a woman in the eye. But he slowly and gradually got into the groove of things again, which you seemed to enjoy. He’s your closest friend after Steve, but now, he wants to be more than that. If he doesn’t get a move on, what he wants will be sacrificed for something completely different. Anything can happen, so he cannot wait anymore.

He heads back to his room and pulls out a notebook to brainstorm ideas about what to do, how to do it, and when to make it happen.

* * *

After your press conference, F.R.I.D.A.Y. triple-checking that every unfamiliar face to the compound has left, and taking a much needed shower, Tony calls everyone to the family room for an announcement. You all shuffle in one-by-one, each looking fatigued. The hype of the press conference died down an hour after they were forced to leave, so because of the inconvenience, everyone is in a sluggish mood. Except for Tony, apparently.

He whistles and uses hand motions to tell everyone to get a move on. He munches on some blueberries. He suppresses a smirk when he sees how unimpressed Steve looks like right now. Sam even more so. Once everyone has gathered and is listening, he explains the reason behind this meeting.

“Since everyone looks like they didn’t get their morning coffee, I’ll just get right to it,” Tony starts. He shoves a handful of blueberries into his mouth before continuing on. “As we all know, today was _______’s official initiation into this team. Well, it being revealed to the public, anyway. So, we’re going to have a celebration. Clear your schedules, because it’s going to be tomorrow night at the Tower in New York. And before I hear any objections, I have everything already set to go. I sent out a few invitations to close friends as well. No outsiders allowed.”

Out of respect, Sam, Natasha, Steve, Wanda, Vision, Tony, and Bucky smile at you. You close in on yourself for a second because all of their eyes are on you. Though you don’t mind, it’s a little uncomfortable. However, having a party sounds great. It’ll give everyone the chance to relax, kick back, and have a little fun.

“Thanks, Tony,” you say, smiling in gratitude.

“Anything for our little devil spawn,” he grins. You’re too tired to think of a comeback, so you just roll your eyes.

“When are we leaving, then?” you ask.

“Just after noon,” he says. “Are you gonna be up?”

“Gonna have to be,” you reply, shrugging. “I’ll even make an alarm for it so I won’t be late and slow everyone down. Happy?”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says. “There’s just one thing.”

“What’s that?” you ask curiously.

Tony shifts his eyes to Bucky, nodding his head. “Him,” he says simply. Bucky pulls his mouth to the side and shifts his weight on his feet. “He’s a dead giveaway. I don’t know if he’ll be able to-“

“He’s coming,” you interrupt. Tony sighs quietly, not quite in the mood to have an argument with you. Before Tony has the chance to speak again, you keep your ball rolling. “All this technology and you have no way to conceal him? ‘No way’ my ass. Give him a face synthetic and a hat, then put him on the plane. ‘Cause I’m not leaving without him.”

Steve doesn’t even try to conceal his smile when you admit that. You can see his grin from the corner of your eye, and you do your best to  _not_  smile. You’re completely comfortable saying something like that out-loud, but it feels slightly embarrassing at the same time. It’s something usually said on a mission when you’re not willing to leave anybody behind. An emotional attachment. And you’re certainly attached to Bucky.

“Alright fine,” Tony says. “I’ll have something ready for him in the morning. Everything is still as you left it at the Tower, by the way. A room has been prepared for the two newcomers as well. Pack what you need. The essentials are there. Everyone be up and raring to go.”

And with that, Tony gives you all a little wave as he leaves the room as a silent goodnight, leaving little room for questions. You yawn widely, and stare at one spot on the floor for a few seconds before blinking again. You give everyone a weary smile before bidding them goodnight as well.

“I’ll see all of you guys tomorrow, then,” you say. Wanda comes up to you for a hug, and you return it tightly. You’ve never hugged her before, but you can already tell that she’s been in need of one for a while. You only let go of her when she pulls away first. Steve and Sam rub your head affectionately on their way to bed, mumbling a small goodnight. Vision does the same, but without patting your head. Natasha joins in on your hug, and the two of you smile and giggle at her action. Wanda finally drops her arms and departs for her room as well.

“Goodnight, _______,” she says. You cannot get over how adorable her accent is. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night, Wanda,” you smile. Natasha puts her hand on your shoulder, grinning widely.

“I’m proud of you,” she says, squeezing gently. “You’ve come a long way since I met you. You’ve grown in every aspect, and I couldn’t be more pleased with how you turned out.”

“Well, I am  _your_  student,” you smile, tilting your head. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You’re like my second mom. The most badass mom anyone’s ever had. But I know you’re a lot more than that.”

Natasha’s bright smile turns into a solemn one. You never bring the topic up directly, but there’s always a hint there, letting her know that you recognize her as  _what_  she is, but more so as  _who_  she is. She is, and always has been, much more than what people recognize her as. And you make damn well sure she knows it. She pulls you into a hug, and pats your back a few times before nodding at you and going to bed. You sigh contently, feeling faintly energized from Wanda’s and Natasha’s hugs. You smile to yourself and turn around, ready to hit the hay as well. But it seems that Bucky has been waiting his turn.

He stands before you, somewhat shy, yet hopeful. He produces a small smile, and uncrosses his arms. You don’t know if he’s asking for a hug, or requesting a small chat before going to bed. Whatever it is, you’re both in silent agreement. You stroll up to him with a gentle smile on your face, your arms parted expectantly, ready to receive a hug. You shrug as if to say “what-the-hell”, making Bucky smile even more. He closes the distance and wraps his arms around your frame, squeezing tightly. You hold onto your wrist behind his back, and comfortably rest your cheek on his chest.

You’re never hugged Bucky before either. You’ve linked arms with him, but that was the only amount of prolonged physical contact you’ve had with him. You hoped and wished that you’d finally be able to give him a real hug; and now that you finally are, you do not want to let him go.

His metal arm tickles your back, the cool surface tingling the end of your spine. He moves his thumbs back and forth as you smoothly sway side to side. You can hear the steady beat of his heart, feel the strength of his chest, and smell his comforting scent. Your smile stretches broader; it feels so right to be hugging Bucky like this right now. The atmosphere is calming, with no one to interrupt you. You rub his back, something you’ve always wanted to do. You can feel his sigh, and you press your forehead against his chest. Your head rises and falls as he breathes. You could cry from how tender this moment is. It’s just a hug, but an extremely long, overdue hug.

Neither of you want to let go, but it has to happen. You release your wrist and put your hands on his waist, pushing yourself away from him. He reluctantly drops his arms, and peers down at you. You look up at him, and you swear you could kiss him right now if you had the courage. The way he’s gazing at you, the way his hands ghost over your fingers, and the way he opens and closes his mouth, like he’s dying to telling you something he’s been holding in for a long time. Instead of saying anything, he grasps your hands and brings them back down to your sides. He brings his right hand up and rubs your shoulder a bit, giving you a small smile before nodding and walking away. You hug yourself and press your lips together to suppress your squeal of delight. However, you manage to keep the tone of your voice under control to send him a farewell.

“Goodnight,” you whisper.

He stops and looks over his shoulder, smiling warmly at you. “Goodnight, _______,” he whispers back. You wait until he disappears around the corner to cover your face, and spin in glee. Bucky peeks around the corner, witnessing your enjoyment before returning to his room to prepare for the morning. Tomorrow will be the optimal time to confess himself to you, and he’s not going to screw it up.

* * *

Your alarm goes off at eleven in the morning, and you can only describe yourself as lethargic.

You had a hard time falling asleep last night because you were so giddy from your hug with Bucky. You couldn’t stop replaying it in your mind, nor could you stop smiling and rolling around in your bed. Taking a melatonin pill wouldn’t have come close to putting you to sleep. You managed to fall asleep somewhere around three in the morning, with Bucky still floating through your thoughts. Now that you’re awake, you sort of regret not taking that pill. However, you’re so excited about the day that you don’t care about the amount of sleep you got. Tony’s hosting a party for you, and you couldn’t be more thrilled.

You packed a small bag of things, mostly your electronics, notebooks, your suit (just in case), and a few clothes here and there. You’re sure Tony’s equipped your bathrooms with the essentials, so you deliberately leave all of that at the compound. You sit up and stretch your arms over your head, yawning tiredly. You have your outfit planned, and take your time putting it on. You didn’t know what kind of mood or aesthetic to go for, since it’s  _New York City_ , so you opted for some cut-off shorts, a white loose-fitting shirt, a light grey cover-up, paired with some black Doc Martens. You apply some light makeup, fix your hair, and grab your pack. You stroll into the kitchen to cut up some fruit for breakfast, and surprisingly, you’re alone. Everyone else is probably already up, but you wonder where they could all be. They could possibly already be assembled at the jet, waiting for your arrival. Instead of guessing, you ask your go-to pal, F.R.I.D.A.Y.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., where is everyone?”

“Mr. Stark is in sub-basement level one, along with Mr. Barnes,” she explains. “Captain Rogers, Sam Wilson, Vision, Wanda Maximoff, and Natasha Romanoff are currently making headway to the airstrip.”

“Thanks.”

You figured they’d all be up and ready to go before you, but you didn’t know how ready they’d  _actually_  be. They seem to be a step ahead of you when it comes to a morning routine. As long as you get there on time, then nothing else matters. After finishing your fruit bowl, you skip down to the main floor and trek through the forest to the airstrip. You can see Sam, Steve, Natasha, Vision, and Wanda from where you are, their bags at their feet, and enthusiastically wave to them. They all wave back, then you check the time on your phone. It’s nearing noon, and Tony and Bucky still aren’t out here. You were sure that they’d be the first ones to arrive; or Tony, at least. You wonder what’s keeping them.

“Hey, guys,” you greet once you reach the group. There’s a chorus of “hey”s and one “good morning” from Vision. You grip the strap of your bag and look behind you. “What’s keeping them?”

“Tony said that he had multiple things to take care of regarding Bucky,” Steve explains, crossing his arms. “Didn’t say what, though. I didn’t think that it’d take this long.”

“Tony’s not one to disclose his private practices,” Natasha says. “Knowing him, he’s most likely being absolutely technical and ensuring that everything is being executed efficiently. He’s not one to take miscalculations lightly.”

You absentmindedly nod your head along with what Natasha says as you look in the distance for any sign of them. The jet isn’t leaving without either of them, and since Tony’s the one that set the time to depart, he better be here when it’s time to go. Otherwise, you’re going to give him an earful of hypocrisy.

After a few minutes of idle chatter with the team, Wanda points out that she can finally see Tony. But nothing about Bucky. You turn around, putting your hand up to your eyes to block the sun. You squint at the two figures, one obviously being Tony, but the other… you can’t quite place. You don’t see Bucky’s metal arm give off any sort of glare. In fact, you don’t see it at all. As they get closer, you’re not even sure that it’s Bucky walking with Tony. Did Tony find a look-a-like to replace Bucky? It wouldn’t make sense, for one, and what’s the point of bringing a stranger along who isn’t what you want? The guy doesn’t look like Bucky at all, so why is he even here? He’s got a backpack on, so he must be staying with you as well. Maybe it’s one of the friends Tony invited? You cross your arms when the two of them come within earshot distance, and call Tony out.

“Who the hell is this?” you ask.

Tony waits until he and this new mystery person are standing directly in front of the group to speak. “I did what you asked,” he says. He folds his hands together in front of him, awaiting your response.

“What I asked?” you repeat. Tony side-eyes the new person, who isn’t really new at all. What you asked Tony? You remember telling him to give Bucky a face synthetic and–

“Wait,” you say, halting your inner monologue. “Are you telling me that this… is Bucky?”

“As promised,” Tony replies. You give “Bucky” a once over, then cast Tony a confused expression. The rest of the team are right behind you, wondering who the hell this guy is. He has the same hair as Bucky, but not the same face. His nose is pointier, his lips thinner, and his eyebrows are kempt. His eyes are brown as well.

“Face synthetic?” you say. Tony nods. You take a step forward, and look into “Bucky”’s eyes. “Is that you?”

“Not what you were expecting, was it?” he says. That certainly is his voice. But there’s one thing that’s out of place.

“If this  _is_  Bucky,” you start slowly, shifting your gaze back to Tony, “then where the hell is his metal arm? Do you rip it off and give him a flesh one?”

“You have such little faith in me,” Tony sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “See, Cesario and I here needed a little bit more time to prepare for this trip. And since you asked  _so_  politely the night before to change his appearance, I did exactly that. Except, instead of just granting him the ability to hide his face, I went the extra mile and used synthetic skin coupled with high-tech holograms to conceal his metal arm. I pulled the schematics from one of my and Dr. Banner’s many projects, and applied our method onto a willing candidate. I would have expected a ‘thank you’ instead of this unnecessary backlash.”

You blink in surprise at Tony. You didn’t know this kind of technology was possible, but when it comes to Tony, nothing is impossible. You reach out and grasp Bucky’s hand. Your eyes widen from how realistic the skin feels.

“Wow,” you whisper to yourself. Bucky gladly lets you man-handle his new arm, his mouth twitching into a smile. “Damn, Tony. This is impressive.”

“I hope you would expect nothing less from me,” Tony says. “You can examine it more from the jet. I would like to arrive in New York before six.”

Tony brushes past you as he steps onto the jet first, followed by the rest of the team. Bucky follows after you, and the two of you sit across from one another. Everyone else is scattered about, with Steve and Wanda on the couch, Sam and Natasha across from each other as well, while Tony and Vision sit by themselves respectively. Tony immediately pulls out one of his many advanced tablets and picks up where he left off. You all settle down, placing your bags on the floor, and make idle conversation with each other as the jet prepares to take off.

You cross your arms and stare hardly at Bucky. Your eye twitches, and you pull your mouth to the side. Bucky tilts his head in confusion, wondering if he’s done anything to make you uncomfortable or annoy you. You can’t take this anymore.

“Okay, take it off,” you say, holding your hand out.

“Take what off?” he asks.

“The face synthetic,” you reply. “Take it off.”

“Why?”

“Because I cannot take you seriously with that thing on. It doesn’t even feel like I’m talking to Bucky. I might as well be talking to some weirdo look-a-like named Benny. Now take it off, for god’s sake.”

Chuckling, Bucky reaches behind his neck and grasps the fake skin, and begins to pull it off. You see the hologram flicker as he removes it, making a face as he does so. When he puts it down on the table between you two, you sigh happily.

“Ah, there he is,” you smile. “Now I’m talking to Bucky.” He smiles right back then stares down at his lap. Your smile only grows bigger, knowing fully well Bucky’s reactions when you give him compliments or tease him. You shift your gaze to his arm again, and sigh in disbelief.

“I still can’t believe how lifelike that stuff is,” you comment, leaning forward in your chair. You place your arms on the table, crossing your fingers. “You can hardly tell the difference.” You flick your eyes up to him, and he’s already looking back at you. You glance down at his arm again, silently asking for permission. He holds his arm out without question. The jet leaves the ground as you grasp his arm, jerking you forward a bit. You shake off the sudden jolt, and delicately turn Bucky’s arm.

The skin is smooth to the touch. You request Bucky’s  _real_  flesh arm to do a comparison. You continuously flip them around, eyes shifting left and right, picking out the small details, and analyzing how identical they are to each other. You know that they won’t look  _exactly_  alike, but it comes pretty close. To the fingernails, veins, and even arm hair; Tony really does give a bang for his buck.

“It’s incredible,” you comment, smoothing your fingers over his forearm. “Almost impossible. But I guess that’s not a word in Tony’s daily vernacular.” You finally let go of his arm when you feel like you’ve touched it for too long. You sit back in your seat and cross your ankles.

“It’s different alright,” Bucky agrees, inspecting his arm now. “He marked specific parts of my arm, then had it hooked up to all these weird wires. I didn’t know what was going on or how it worked. All he said that he was going to hide the metal. It didn’t hurt, but it felt really strange. The synthetic skin started to form over my arm once he got it going. He told me not to touch it, so I watched instead. I’ve never seen anything like it. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the finished product.”

“Neither could we,” you add. “It’s truly unbelievable. I didn’t even know Tony could do stuff like that.” Your eyes skim over his arm once more before looking out your window. It’s a bright, sunny day in Los Angeles, the city raging with life below you. Your heart beats faster in your chest from excitement. You have no idea if Tony has anything special planned once you get to the Tower, but whatever it is, you cannot contain your enthusiasm. You grin as you look upon the city, setting your chin in your hand. Bucky looks on, amused.

“Excited?” he muses.

“What gave it away?” you joke. You sigh as your smile grows. “Yeah. I haven’t really… I dunno. I’ve been to formal parties before, but the hype for this is through the roof. I just don’t know what to expect.”

Bucky sighs through his nose, and wracks his brain. “Well, from what I remember, something like this usually entails drinking, sharing stories, and enjoying oneself.”

“Yeah, something like that,” you say. “It’s nice when we all get together, too. We don’t do much of that unless a mission is involved. A chance to kick-back and celebrate something is what we all need. Like with Steve’s birthday. But you know what the best part is?”

“What’s that?”

“I get to share this experience with everyone,” you answer. “Steve, Sam, Vision, Tony, Natasha, Wanda, you. I’ve never felt more special than I have right now.”

“Well you’ve always been special,” Bucky rebuttals. “We all have something to bring to the table. And you happen to bring a lot. Which, I’m sure, is refreshing for everyone. Especially myself.”

“Thanks,” you smile. “I appreciate it. A lot. It’s uplifting to hear things like that. I crave validation, so it makes sense. I hope I won’t disappoint you tonight.”

“What makes you think you’d disappoint me?” he asks. “From the very beginning, all you’ve done is surprise me and take care of me. I have no way of repaying you, but I am eternally grateful for your help. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Well. That certainly doesn’t want to make you cry. You’ve grown close enough to be at that stage in a friendship, so you might as well. You allow yourself to sniffle, and smile through the tears that well up in your eyes. You hastily wipe them away so they don’t mess up your makeup. You turn away from him to console yourself.

“Go raibh maith agat,” you say.

“I’m sorry?” he says, leaning forward.

“It means ‘thank you’,” you tell him. You sniffle a little more, and a tear manages to slide down your cheek. Without hesitating, Bucky reaches over and wipes it away. He smiles warmly at you.

“You’re welcome.”

As the flight continues on, you and Bucky converse with each other, and everyone else on the jet. Sometimes in random spurts, to add in your two cents, or to actually hold a conversation. Every chance he gets, Bucky compliments you. Subtly, of course. Your makeup, your hair, your clothes. He does it all. And this time, you notice,  _and_  think of them as signs. Maybe it’s time to start making a move too. You’ve been complimenting him too and purposefully being more physical, but enough is enough. It’s time to do something about it.

You manage to take a power nap, and wake up refreshed as the streets of New York come into view. You stare out the window while fixing the crick in your neck. You smile as you see more of the city. It’s always one of the most talked about places, even before the New York incident. It’s also really busy; but if you can handle Toronto, you can handle The Big Apple. You see Bucky is still fast asleep, his fake arm supporting his cheek. You sputter a laugh, and gently nudge his leg under the table.

“Wake up, Benny,” you say. “We’re here.”

Bucky starts, blinking several times to wake himself up. He sits up straight in his chair and stretches his arms. Yawning, he looks out the window too. He can’t see anything quite clearly, but he knows how many people are outside and bustling. The thought of being seen concerns him, but with his new synthetic face and arm, he’s at ease for the time being. He stares at his fake face on the table, and sighs before putting it back on. You watch him struggle to centre it, offering no help just to see how he puts it on. And to give him some practice.

The pilot–F.R.I.D.A.Y., of course–announces an ETA of three minutes. Everyone begins to gather their things to prepare to leave. You grab your bag from the floor as Bucky tightens his grip on his backpack.

“Nervous?” you ask him gently.

“I haven’t been home in a long time,” he answers, glancing out the window one last time. “I don’t know what to expect.”

“You’ll do great,” you encourage. “You have nothing to be worried about.” Just to be safe, you knock your knuckles on the wooden table. The jet descends to the landing pad of the Tower, then comes to a full stop. Everyone stands up, and proceeds to walk down the steps of the jet once they’re put down. You and Bucky get off last, and speed-walk inside the Tower to avoid any unwanted eyes. A jet just landed on the Avengers Tower; there’s bound to be news about it. Or at least speculation.

The lot of you make way to the elevator, down from the party deck to the private quarters. Tony points out everyone’s rooms, then makes an announcement before heading down to the reception and lobby to see if any of the other guests have arrived, or when they plan to.

“Okay, listen up,” he shouts to get everyone’s attention. “It’s just after five. Party gets going at six. This is a semi-formal party, so dress like it. A map of the Tower is available on the go. There are restricted areas, so stay out of them. Yes, everyone is safe. No, no one can see in from the outside of the Tower. Food and drink are at your disposal, and try not to break anything.”

After that, he skips downstairs to see if his invited guests are on their way. You toss your bag on your new bed and sigh. Now you’ll have to get used to sleeping in  _another_  bedroom that isn’t in your hometown, in Toronto, or at the compound. You flop down on the bed, which is surprisingly soft. Maybe it’s memory foam. You could fall asleep again if you could, but you can’t so you shan’t. Tony said the party is in an hour, so you must use that time efficiently to look presentable.

Thing is, you brought nothing that can pass as “semi-formal”.

You wouldn’t think that Tony would keep gowns and party dresses on the ready if someone was ever in need. You hope that he does, but as you open the bedroom closet, it’s bare. You think about going shopping to get a new one, but there’s absolutely no time for that; plus, you have no idea where to go. Sighing in frustration, you close the closet doors and mull over what to do. You spend a good fifteen minutes thinking of ideas when Wanda and Natasha pop into your room. You give them a pathetic wave as they stand over you.

“Didn’t think you’d be in this much of a slump,” Wanda says, crossing her arms.

“Is a private party too much?” Natasha teases.

You groan from under your pillow, and pull it off your head to face them. They’re both smiling down at you, waiting to know why you look so dejected. You yawn and sit up, crossing your legs.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” you say. “I didn’t bring anything that fancy.”

“Why not?” Wanda asks.

“Because I don’t have anything that fancy,” you explain. “I didn’t think that bringing stuff like that to the compound would benefit me much, considering what I was going to do. So I just settled for nice dress clothes. Pants and shirts and old clothes for lounging around. Nothing too out there. The best I have is a pantsuit, but I am  _not_  wearing it. This is a  _party_ , not a work dinner.”

“That’s why we’re here to help,” Natasha says.

“Pfft did you guys know that I’d end up in this situation?” you joke. Wanda and Natasha cast each other a glance before nodding in unison. You groan and smush your face back in your pillow. “I am hopeless. I have nothing, and there’s no time to go out and get something. It’s time to improvise.”

“Orrr,” Natasha says, prompting you to look at her. “Instead of being melodramatic, you can borrow one of our dresses for the night.”

“Oh.” You thought about that as an option, but you didn’t want to cause them any trouble. Plus, you didn’t think you’d do their clothes justice. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Wanda smiles. “It’s no party if you’re not dressed for the occasion. Now come on. Stop moping around and let us find you something.”

You give them a sheepish smile, then push yourself up and take Wanda’s hand. They lead you to Natasha’s room, and begin to rummage through her closet to see what you can wear.

* * *

When six o’clock rolls around, everyone has gathered on the party deck level of the Tower. Tony, Steve, Vision, Sam, and even Bucky are wearing dress clothes, with Tony the only one donning a jacket. Since Bucky didn’t have any clothes of the sort, Steve lent him something of his own: black slacks and a deep grey button-up shirt. The two top buttons are undone, but the hem is tucked neatly into his pants. Tony said that no one can see into the Tower from the outside, but he still chose to wear the face synthetic. This is your special night, and he wants you to see him as Bucky, not same wannabe version of himself. He has something planned for you later on; something private, and only  _you_  are allowed to hear. But since there are more unfamiliar guests, he’ll have to wait until they’re gone to give you your present.

Tony’s invited guests have all arrived except for one. Maria Hill, James Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Happy Hogan, and Phil Coulson (by Pepper’s request) are currently present. Clint Barton, another member of the Avengers, couldn’t make it because he wanted to be with his family. But he sent his regards to Tony, along with a hearty “congrats” to be passed down to you. They’re dressed in similar fashion to everyone else, with Maria in a red mini dress with a leather jacket, and Pepper wearing an off-the-shoulder, white, form-fitting dress. James, Happy, and Phil are dressed alike, black slacks with white, grey, and black dress shirts, with Phil and Happy wearing a jacket. The lot of them make conversation with each other, champagne in hand. They’re all curious to see who the new member is, minus Pepper and Phil.

Back downstairs, Wanda and Natasha are ready to go, but they’re putting some finishing touches on you first. You think they’re being a bit too over-the-top, but they just told you to shut up and bear it, because it’ll be worth it in the end. You sit quietly as they both fiddle with different sections of your hair. You admire them in the mirror, mentally running through the scenario of when you’re going to compliment them when they’re finished with you.

Wanda has her hair in her signature waves, and is wearing a blood red, off-the-shoulder, long-sleeved knee length dress with thin silver earrings and black flats. Her makeup has an all-natural look to it, and she couldn’t look more beautiful. You’re smiling so much from staring at her that you have to force yourself to look down in your lap. However, you peek up at the mirror again to observe Natasha.

She dons a classy black, sheath dress, paired with some black heels and has her hair done in her signature curls. Her makeup is also all-natural looking, but with a little more colour. She has diamond earrings for jewelry, along with a silver interlocking bangle bracelet. It’s amazing how she can look this beautiful but kill you at the same time. The duality of a woman.

Yourself, however… you look like you’re going to a premiere.

You borrowed one of Natasha’s dresses. It’s a royal blue, V-neck, sleeveless dress that goes all the way to the floor, with a sash tied around the waist, and a split down the left side. From what you can tell, Wanda and Natasha are giving you a half-up half-down hair style, and are working on curling some bits. Your makeup is more noticeable. Flawless foundation, perfected eyebrows, winged eyeliner, a simple, shimmery white smoky eye, paired with a bold red lip, and some small, silver hoop earrings. You try not to move around too much or lick your lips. You can’t ruin what they did for you. You leave your gloves behind because they clash too much with the dress.

When Wanda and Natasha are finished with your hair, they step back, and allow you to drink it all in. You stand up, careful not to step on the hem of the dress. The silver two-inch peep toe heels go well with the dress, and you’re actually happy with that aspect. They’re easy enough to walk in, but as you observe yourself in the full-length mirror, you shake your head.

“Isn’t this a bit too much?” you ask, turning to the side. “I appreciate this, honestly I do. But this party is just for me being added to the team. Not–“

“Well it’s just that, isn’t it?” Natasha cuts in. “This party is for  _you_. Everyone is here for  _you_. Wouldn’t it be considered a little impolite to not be the centre of attention at your own party?”

“Ehhhh,” you whine, shaking your hand. “Agree to disagree?” Natasha visibly sighs, her shoulders rising and dropping with her breath. She turns to Wanda, and she smiles, stepping forward.

“You look beautiful, _______,” she says, putting her hands on your shoulders. “Like Natasha said, this night is all about  _you_. It’s nothing more than a simple celebration for your accomplishments and being welcomed to the team. Don’t worry about how dressed up you look. You deserve it, and quite frankly, I’m sure it’ll be much appreciated by someone other than us.”

You know exactly who she’s talking about. You playfully roll your eyes at her and find an interesting spot on the floor to stare at. Wanda giggles and gives you an encouraging squeeze.

“If he doesn’t make a move, then I will,” Wanda says. Your eyes widen and your heart skips a beat. She can’t be serious. But when you see a hint of determination in her eyes, you’re kind of worried. And excited.

“O-Okay,” you squeak, standing up tall. Wanda nods her head approvingly, and lets Natasha approach you.

“Remember what I taught you?” she asks. “About confidence?” You go over what she said in your head: straight back, chest out, head up. You got it all in your head, but you hope you’ll execute it flawlessly when you go upstairs.

“I got it,” you say firmly. “I’ll do my best, but you never know what happens in the first beginning moments. But I’ll just take a breath and go for it.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” she smiles. “Just be yourself. I’m sure that’s why you’ve grabbed his attention.”

“I don’t have much to offer other than that,” you joke. Both Wanda and Natasha give you “come-on” expressions, and you clear your throat. “I know, I know. That’s me being me. Isn’t that what you want?”

You snort as you walk past them, poking your head out the door to go to the elevator. You practice your confidence walk as Wanda and Natasha trail behind you, smiling to themselves and at each other. They share a bonding moment over you as you press the button for the upper levels.

“Nervous?” Natasha asks as you all wait.

“Now that you mention it,” you start, placing your hand on your chest, “a little bit, yeah.” Your heart is beating a thousand times per second as you think about everyone staring at you from the top of the stairs. You have no idea how they’ll be judging you, but you just hope that they’ll all smile or do  _something_  positive that doesn’t make you want to crawl into bed and die. The elevator dings, and the three of you step inside. Wanda hits the floor button, and the ride to the party deck is silent. You take deep breaths the entire time, doing your best to settle your heart thumping in your chest.

When the elevator stops, you step out first, but let Wanda and Natasha walk ahead of you. It’s best to let the person being celebrated enter last, right? Make a dramatic entrance, let everyone stare at you for a few seconds, then descend the stairs. That’s how it goes most of the time, doesn’t it? You sigh, then pull yourself together. You shake your hands and roll your head side to side, preparing yourself before walking through the doors. Natasha takes the lead first, while Wanda lingers behind to give you a few more quick, comforting words. You keep your eyes on Natasha as she addresses everyone to gather their attention.

“There’s no need to freak out,” Wanda says. “We’re all your friends in there. And you get to make new ones. And maybe something more for a special someone. Just remember to breathe, and like Natasha said, be yourself. Nothing could go wrong.”

“I hope you’re right,” you say, smacking your lips together. Seeing as how you’re still slightly jittery, Wanda smirks and presses a kiss to your cheek. You freeze up immediately, your eyes widening and your heart stopping. She walks away after that, throwing a cheeky look over her shoulder.

“Wanda, what the  _fuck_ ,” you squeak. “What the fuck what the fuck what the  _fuck_. If you were trying to calm me down it didn’t work!”

Wanda completely ignores you, and skips down the steps to be with everyone else. Your jaw drops open at her bold action. You can’t believe she had the nerve to just kiss your cheek and go on her merry way. You’ll get back at her later. She’s wearing matte lipstick, so there’s no mark on your cheek. For now, you need to get through tonight. And it starts by walking through those glass doors. You smooth down the front of your dress, hold your head up high, and march towards those doors.

You can see everyone on the other side as you grasp the handle and open the door. You keep smiling out of nervousness and embarrassment as you walk along the raised platform, and approach the glass railing, looking over everyone in the sitting room. They all stare up at you as you arrive, sporting soft expressions. You notice three new faces among the crowd of twelve. You come up to the railing, and fold your hands in front of you. You feel stupid making an entrance like this, but what else can you do? You give everyone a polite “hello” before joining them, keeping your strong posture.

While everyone else is watching you fondly, Bucky’s heart stops. It stopped the moment you stepped into the room, actually. Your nervous smile, your dress, the way you carried yourself… his lips parted and he needed to blink a few times to make sure that you were really there. His throat felt dry, and swallowed thickly. As you introduce yourself to James, Maria, and Happy, Bucky keeps his eyes trained on you, admiring you from afar. Steve teasingly shrugs his side, but Bucky doesn’t budge; he’s too mesmerized by how beautiful you look tonight.

After meeting Tony’s newest invites, Tony raises a glass to toast your achievements while being with the team, to which you smile again in embarrassment. He’s cheeky in his speech, but still sincere and thankful. They all raise a glass to you while you stand there awkwardly. Champagne isn’t exactly the tastiest alcohol you’ve had. Beer is the scum of the earth, so if Tony has it, you’ll be taking some coolers. You all sit down on the white leather sofas, and ask Tony to fix you up a drink. He goes to the bar without question, and comes back with a six-pack of Palm Bays, Smirnoff Ice, and Vex beverages. He plops them on the table, and you flick your eyes up at him.

“What?” he says. “I’m just giving you some variety since our stuff isn’t good enough for you.”

“Thanks,” you say, reaching forward for a Smirnoff. “And it’s not that it isn’t good enough. It’s just gross.”

“Whatever you say, sporto.”

You make a face at the nickname an old man would give to his son, and pop off the cap of your drink. You look around the table, and ask Tony one more thing before he sits down.

“Do you have any straws?”

“Straws?”

“Yeah. I can’t drink without a straw.”

“You know t–“

“I am twenty-five years old, Tony. I am very well aware that you get drunk faster when you drink with a straw. You’re only the thousandth person that’s told me that. Just… do you have them or not?”

You stare him down, daring him to say anything else that would prompt you to be sassy with him again. You smile when he says nothing else and goes to get you a straw. You drop it in your drink when he comes back with it.

“Thaaank you,” you sing, instantly taking a few sips. You settle back into the couch beside Steve, shimmying your shoulders in comfort. As Tony takes his seat beside Pepper, the conversation finally gets going.

“So _______, may I call you _______?” Happy asks.

“’Course,” you smile.

“This may as well be the first question any newcomer is going to ask,” he starts, slightly embarrassed, “but can you do it?”

There’s a collective groan from Tony, Pepper, Steve, and Sam, prompting Happy to shrug and raise his hands in defence.

“Wow, sorryyy. Didn’t know that I wasn’t allowed to see it up-close.”

“Oh, don’t mind them,” you say, setting your drink down. “It’s fine, really. It’s fun to show people.”

You lean forward in your seat, and stretch your arm out towards Happy across the table. It hardly takes any focus at all for flames to forge around your hand. Happy flinches in surprise and jumps back a bit. After his initial shock, he leans forward again and stares in amazement at your hand.

“Wow,” he says to himself. He reaches out to touch your hand himself, but you reel yourself back.

“Whoa there, Mr. Hogan,” you say. “They’re real flames. You could burn yourself.”

“Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry.”

“You couldn’t tell from the heat?” Tony jumps in. “She can power that up to 3000 Kelvin, Happy.”

“Well I didn’t feel much heat from it is all,” Happy defends. “It’s like a fire pit. You don’t feel the heat unless you get close enough to it.”

“I can assure you that I have control over how much heat I emit,” you say, extinguishing the flames. “I won’t accidentally blow up the Tower.”

“You better hope not,” Tony warns. “Otherwise that’s coming out of the rent money for your friend.”

“Don’t do her dirty like that,” you fight back. “I promise that it will never happen. Here, at the compound. Anywhere. Cross my heart.”

“I believe you, so don’t worry about it,” Tony says. “I won’t get your friend kicked out.”

“And this friend being…?” Pepper comments, looking from you to Tony.

“She has a friend back in Toronto,” Tony explains. “One of _______’s conditions were to ensure that her friend always has her rent covered. It has been.”

“Does her friend know?”

“She was the first one  _to_  know,” you cut in. “She’s very observant, and can keep a secret. Mostly because she forgets half the time. She knows that I’m here too, obviously. She’s been very… enthusiastic about it. And I can also promise you that she won’t sell me out, or anyone else if that ever happened. She may be annoying sometimes, but she’s loyal.”

“How many others know about you?” James asks.

“So far, just her,” you say. You notice you’ve finished your drink, so you grab another, moving your straw to the full one instead. “My family and work friends don’t know. And I’d like to keep it that way. They all think I’m on this… vacation, so to say. Working with high schoolers and teaching them about photography. Sort of like a workshop.”

“And no one has asked any questions about it?” Vision asks.

“Nope,” you say, taking a considerable sip. “And I hope no one does. Most of my family is pretty gullible, and Natasha was more than convincing explaining it to my boss. I haven’t received any calls or emails about it, so I suppose everyone’s forgotten, or quite frankly, they don’t care. Either way, as long as no one knows I’m here, everything’s fine. Knock on wood.”

“So you’re telling me,” Sam starts, a little shocked himself, “that you’ve been living at the compound for three months, without your friends and family knowing?”

“Yes.”

“And no one, besides Maeve, has bothered to pick up the phone and call you about any of this? None of them are suspicious?”

“Nope.”

“Gotta hand it to you, Spyro. Even when you do nothing, you’re doing something.”

“Well I’ve been lying all my life. It’s not that hard to do once you’re used to it.”

There are some discerning looks from a few people in the room, but you reassure them that you mostly did little white lies. A few big ones here and there, but it was to spare feelings and to avoid family drama. There was always too much of it; so now you’re glad that you’re far away from your family, no matter how bad that sounds. Everyone needs a break sometimes. You have another family now, and you wouldn’t trade them for the world.

You notice that Bucky has been quiet the entire time. He’s sitting by himself in a single chair, shying away from everyone. His fingers are crossed in his lap, his eyes are cast down, and he’s periodically chewing his lip. He must be nervous as hell to be in a room full of this many people, even more so with three new faces. Even so, he’s confident in himself. He can blend in and deceive people when need be; he’s just getting comfortable, unbeknownst to you. You have full confidence in Bucky anyhow, but you always worry in situations like these. Not as much with his face and arm hidden, but the thought is still there.

“Have you guys been introduced to our friend here?” you ask, gesturing to Bucky.

“I don’t believe we have,” Maria says. “Who is he?”

“He’s a friend of mine from back home,” you lie smoothly. “Benny. Benny Noble.”

“No offence, but what is he doing here?” Maria continues.

“I felt that I’d be more comfortable with him here,” you explain. “He’s been a very good friend of mine for a few years now. Helping me through the good and the bad. His presence calms me in anxious times. Plus, I thought it’d be nice to share this with him.” Maria gives you a skeptical look, but in the sense that she doesn’t believe Benny is just your “friend”. Or, at least,  _he_ doesn’t want to be your friend, going by the look on his face. He wants much, much more. Maria can read the mood well, and keeps her mouth shut about it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Noble,” she smiles, raising a glass to him.

“And yourself,” Bucky replies, albeit quietly. He fixes his posture, sitting up straight in his chair and spreading his legs a little more. He clears his throat, and is ready to be engaged in conversation if it arises.

And it does.

As the night progresses, the atmosphere is less quiet and strained. Once Tony turns on some music, everyone visibly relaxes, a drink in their hands. You open up quite a bit, since you get very talkative and smiley when you drink a lot. There’s three different conversations going on between everyone, and they’re all wearing a smile. That definitely helps you calm down. But you’re so hyper focused on your own conversation with Pepper that you wouldn’t even notice. Bucky speaks with James and Happy, both men appreciating when Bucky laughs at their jokes. You smile and laugh even more when you see Bucky smile. It’d be a lot better if you could see his real face, but this will suffice. Besides, you can feel the heat rushing to your face by the minute. You’ve already finished five drinks, and gone to the bathroom twice. You can hold your liquor, but not your bladder. After you finish your sixth drink and come back from the bathroom, you realize the conversation has taken a turn for the most interesting.

“Sooooo,” you sing, flopping back down in your spot, squished between Sam and Steve. “What’re we talkin’ abouuuuuut?”

“Past relationships,” Phil answers. “Not many in the room are as inconspicuous as others.”

“Pffft we all know who you’re talking about,” you laugh, rolling your head over to Tony. “I hear you were still quite the playboy, Tony Stark. But now that you have the most amaaaaazing woman ever, this lovely Pepper Potts, those days are behind you. Aren’t they, Mr. Genius Billionaire  _Ex-Playboy_  Philanthropist?”

Tony glances at Pepper, who smiles lovingly at him. Naturally, you’d think that Tony would reply in a slightly cheeky tone, but you were not expecting to hear him sound sincere.

“Yes,” he says, reaching over to hold her hand. He gives her a squeeze before letting go. “I guess it’s not in me anymore to sleep around.”

“Well ain’t that the sweetest thing to come out of your mouth,” you comment. “Would it kill ya to be like that more often?”

“Would it kill you to not be overly arrogant and sassy?” he challenges. You shrug.

“Ehhh. I can’t help but be sassy,” you retort. “It’s part of who I am. But I do get told to shut up when I’m buzzed so maybe I’ll start that now.”

“Ohh no no,” Sam says. “I don’t think so. We’re just getting started.”

“On what?”

“The current topic of discussion,” Natasha pipes in. “I believe the one being celebrated should have first say in the matter.”

You blow your lips before sputtering into a laugh. You’re genuine for a good twenty seconds before dying down and realizing that everyone is waiting for you to give an answer or some sort of story. You pick up your drink and sit back into the couch.

“Look, all I gotta say is that I like my men how I like my women,” you say, sipping hardly on your drink. All eyes are on you now, waiting for you to continue your joke. But as you look around at all of them, you understand that they don’t get it.

“Which is…?” Steve eggs on.

“Well, that’s it,” you say. “That’s the joke.” Natasha and Wanda seem to know what you’re talking about, but everyone else does not. Do you really have to spell it out for them? “I’m bisexual, guys.”

There’s a chorus of “oh”s from everyone, making you roll your eyes. It’s not like it’s important anyway, but it still surprises you how surprised other people are when you tell them or they find out on their own. You don’t know how old fashioned everyone is in the room, but they don’t seem offended by it. Just genuine shock.

“Well, congratulations,” Steve says, causing you to burst into laughter.

“It’s not like I just find out myself  _today_ ,” you joke, nudging him. “But, thanks. I don’t need to be congratulated for that, but it’s a very Steve thing of you to say.”

“What does that mean?” he smiles.

“It means you’re very polite,” Sam answers for him. “You can’t go a day without being nice and respectful.”

“You’d think it’d be natural for people to be like that,” you comment. “And as far as I can tell, all of you are.”

“Okay, enough of this being nice stuff,” Tony cuts in. “Natasha made a very simple, polite request that you have yet to answer.”

“Ohoho?” you chuckle, grabbing another drink. “Are you really that eager to hear about my non-existent love life?”

“Very much, actually,” Wanda says. You look over at her, and she leans forward to hear a clear answer. “We know quite a few things about you, but none of your past, really. So please, do tell.”

You snort at her, setting your drink back down on the table. You can feel all eyes on you as you think of how to begin your answer. You sit up and nod your head side to side as you chew on your tongue.

“There’s not much to tell, honestly,” you say. “The ones in elementary school don’t matter, and I never had any in high school either. I was close to one, but I never acted on it. I didn’t want to be wrong and embarrass myself. And still nothing throughout university. Sorry to say, but I got nothing. No experience what-so-ever. Which is a little embarrassing now that I think about it… But, yeah. Sorry I’m not as interesting as you think I am.”

“Oh, come off it,” Tony says, sounding very unimpressed. “You’re telling us that you’ve never been with somebody before? Not even a one-night-stand?”

“Not in person, no,” you reply.

“So you have been with someone then?” Maria jumps in.

“Well, yes and no,” you say. “Long distance. We met online, and neither I nor she had the money nor time to meet. We knew each other for three years before confessing, and that only last for half a year. We still talk a lot, though. This was when I was nineteen. Since then, I’ve been with no one. In real life, or online.”

“Sounds like you’ve lead quite the boring life,” Sam laughs, prompting you to elbow him.

“I told you I wasn’t that interesting,” you say. “I mean, I’ve kissed people sure, but only when I was drinking. They weren’t that meaningful. And they were all with girls too. I seem to repel boys, apparently.” You pick your drink back up and sway side to side as you drink it.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Natasha says. “You’re plenty interesting. Maybe you have no direct experience with them because you do not approach them first?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” you agree. “No way in hell am I gonna go up to one of them first. You can forget that. You know how well I faired against scar-face in my first mission. What a treat that was.”

“But you’ve grown to be better,” Wanda smiles. “You’ve shown significant improvement these past few weeks. It should be a piece of cake for you to attract the one you want.”

_Oh, Wanda. Please stop being so obvious._

You shift your eyes towards the floor as you sip on your drink. You betray yourself as you break out into a huge smile, and almost choke from laughing to yourself. You clear your throat and put your empty drink on the table.

“Anyone else willing to talk about how successful or unsuccessful they are in the dating department?”

More of that conversation goes on, but Bucky couldn’t care less. He now knows that besides that one online girl, you have no experience in the art of dating. Men, at least. And he finds that surprisingly… hot. He has a feeling you’re not exactly innocent, but shy enough to not know what to do. He pulls himself out of the gutter, however, and smiles instead. He hopes that later tonight when he presents his love to you that you accept it. He has a feeling you will, but there’s always a chance that you won’t. Despite that, he can already imagine the smile on your face, the tears forming in your eyes. It’s a sight that he so dearly wishes to see, because you’d be happy by his own doing.

He’s gone over the facts of being in love with someone, and infatuation. Infatuation is sudden, based on a feeling, seeking to find happiness, possessive, idealistic, and in love with “emotion”. Love is gradual, realistic, based on commitment, seeking to give happiness, freeing, and in love with “devotion”. He did not fall in love with you at first sight. He had no idea who you were, or what you wanted from him. He does want to seek happiness, but it cannot be found in one person alone. He is definitely not possessive of you, nor is he going to cut you off from certain people just because they’re not him. He’s not an asshole. He did gradually begin to grow fond of you, like you, love you. You make him happy, and he wants to give the world to you. It pained him tremendously to see you in agony after getting shot, and even after the market incident. He wants to protect you, but he knows first hand that you can take care of yourself. Still, he wouldn’t mind shielding you from danger, stepping in front of you and taking that bullet. Your personality, your heart, your bravery. He was attracted to it all. The small touches, the soft words, moments you had together; he loved all of it. And tonight is the night to tell you about it in his own way. A way that you’ll definitely approve of.

After a few more rounds of drinks, conversations, and laughs, you’ve reached the point of not giving two flying shits about what you say, or do. You’ve taken it upon yourself to crank the music loud, get up on the steps, and perform to your heart’s content. With a bottle in hand in high spirits, you sing loudly, boldly, to “I Love Rock ‘N Roll”, “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, “Bohemian Rhapsody”, “Under the Bridge”, and “Icky Thump”. You point at everyone during your sequences, and encourage them to sing along and come up to dance with you. You even managed to get Bucky up too! You all danced poorly, if anything. You’re not as sharp not precise when drunk. None of you are. You wonder if you’re going to remember this in the morning. But all that matters right now is living in the moment.

After another bathroom break and time to fix your appearance, you decide to have some time to yourself and head to the terrace for some fresh air. The humid night air flows over your skin as you open the door, and you sigh contently. You’ve never seen the streets of New York lit up at night in real life before, only in pictures. And it’s even more breathtaking gazing at it with your own two eyes. You step out of your shoes and tread down the steps to the cool cement platform, and approach the glass railing. You settle your hands atop, and breathe in all the extraordinary scents of the New York. It’s a clear night, with a waning moon in the sky. You have an incredible view of the Chrysler building and the Manhattan Bridge, but they cannot compare to the horizon line.

The countless buildings scattering the streets all have their lights spilling through their windows, creating a yellow, hazing glow of the city. You can hear the familiar beeps of impatient New Yorker drivers, hurrying to get on home or to the bars. It makes you smile and lean over the railing; the wind passes by, whipping your hair as it goes. You push the stray strands behind your ears and sigh. It has been a really great night, with some really great people. Despite being the wooziest you’ve ever been, you know you’re going to remember, even if your brain refuses to. You take a deep breath just to smell the air again, and you break out into a giant smile and giggle from how good the earth smells, past all the pollution and artificial fragrances. It always calms you right down after a hard day, or just for pure pleasure. You were hoping to have a few moments to yourself, but there’s always that one person that decides otherwise.

Bucky comes strolling up to you, looking as fake as he’ll ever be, and leans against the railing to admire the skyline with you.

“Hey,” he says, smiling at you.

“Hey,” you say in return, smiling back.

“Why’re out here by yourself?”

“A breath of fresh air usually gets me back on track. And to admire the view.”

“Yeah, it is beautiful. But not as beautiful as you.”

You smile wider and look down before casting him a small glance. His words have been affecting you more and more. At first, you thought they were just that: words. That they didn’t have a lot of meaning, that it was just Bucky being Bucky. You don’t take compliments to heart sometimes, so it’s easy to brush them off. Thinking that someone wants something or they do it just to see your reaction and don’t mean it. And just because Bucky is from nearly a century ago doesn’t mean he wouldn’t do the same thing. Nevertheless… you’ve noticed time and time again how small his compliments would be, how close he would put himself beside you, the looks he gave you. You didn’t want to believe in any of it just to be disappointed in the end. You’ve never been with a man, you said so yourself. You thought about what it’d be like being with one, what he’d say to you, what he’d do for you, the kinds of shenanigans you’d get into with each other. But your luck with them has been clear as day for many years. You’re too afraid to approach them yourself, and the ones that approached  _you_  were crusty boys with shit personalities. You didn’t need that kind of toxicity in your life. Or drama. But now, in this moment, you’re hoping that he’s being completely genuine. Otherwise this could turn out to be one of the worst nights in your life.

“I really wish I had my camera right now,” you say, standing up straight. You slowly trail your eyes along the entire skyline. “It’d make a really great panoramic photo.”

“Well there’s no use in dwelling on that,” he says, straightening up as well. He holds out his hand and smiles tenderly. “May I have this dance, _______?”

You stare down at his hand before smiling sheepishly at him. “But there’s no music,” you say. “How are we–“

“We don’t always need music to dance,” he says. “Sometimes you just have to go with the flow.”

It’s not like you’d turn Bucky down anyway, music or not. You gingerly take his hand, and he pulls you towards him. You place your left hand on his waist, and he places his right on yours. You have trouble keeping a straight face from being so close to him, so you opt to hide your face on his shoulder instead of keeping eye-contact with him. He sways you side-to-side, and gently fixes his grip on your hand when it gets too clammy. He didn’t know how nervous he’d get by doing this, but he’s glad he is. It’s about damn time one of you says something.

“Is this your first time dancing with a man?” he asks in a slightly teasing tone.

“No,” you smile, looking over his shoulder. “I’ve danced alongside men before. But nothing too… serious, I guess. Intimate. And held meaning. So that kind of dance? Yes. This is my first time.”

“Really?” He’s genuinely surprised. “Not even at a wedding?”

“I haven’t been to any weddings,” you explain. “And I don’t go out as often as someone of my age should be. So I don’t get a lot of moments like this. But… I’m glad you’re the one I get to do this with.”

Bucky closes his mouth, because he was just about to say the same thing. “You beat me to it,” he says, pulling you in as close as you can go. “I’m glad I am too. And might I say that uh… I–My heart stopped when you walked into the room tonight. You looked incredible.”

“Are you saying that I don’t look the same now?” you smirk.

“O-Of course not! I mean, of course you still are–“

“I’m joking, Bucky, I’m joking… And thank you. You are as well. Though, it might’ve been a little more gratifying to see your  _actual_ face instead of this ‘Benny’ imposter.”

“Yeah, it would, wouldn’t it?” he agrees.

You embrace the ensuing silence and close your eyes as you dance with Bucky. He smells wonderful, his (not really) clothes compliment his form well, and he’s holding you so compassionately that you want to stay like this forever. He’s warm and comfortable and protective, and feels like home. In that definite cliché way. You muck up the courage to raise your head and pull back to look him in the eyes. They’re not exactly his because they’re brown, but you’re looking at him nonetheless. You bring your hand to his cheek, and tilt your head to the side as you continue to sway back and forth.

“I wish I could take this off,” you whisper. You gaze over his shoulder at everyone else inside. “Guess I’ll have to wait until the newcomers leave.”

Bucky looks over his shoulder and gazes at them as well. He sighs, wishing for the same thing. “Me too,” he agrees, turning back around. He gently grasps your wrist and brings it back to his shoulder. “But I have a feeling their time is almost up.”

“Are you gonna storm in there and demand them to leave?” you ask, smiling playfully.

“No,” he chuckles. “That’d be too rude. It’s late, they had a lot to drink, I’m sure they all have very important plans for tomorrow. They’ll want to get some rest. And I’m sure that spending time with the newest recruit tired them out. That was a lot of energy you brought upon them.”

“Well, they’re… aging,” you start, trying not to be too offensive. “They get fatigued faster than before. They need a lot more rest than the lot of us nowadays. With the stressful lives they’re leading, it’s easy to get worn out and wish for an early death.”

“That wasn’t morbid at all,” he chortles.

“I thought you’d gotten used to me saying morbid things,” you grin.

“It still surprises me every time,” he admits.

“Good. I need to keep you on your toes.”

“And why is that?”

“Makes for a more interesting day.”

“You make every day interesting for me already.”

You stare at him for a moment before giggling into his chest. You don’t say another word and just keep holding on to him, and dance into the night. Back inside, your friends are having unique conversations of their own.

Maria, Natasha, Pepper, and Wanda are having a bet war, debating on who, when, where, and how either you or “Benny” will confess to one another. Maria and Pepper did not know of any past interactions between you two, so Wanda and Natasha gave them plausible lies to give them an idea about who each of you are.

“Okay, so, Benny is a romantic,” Pepper starts, swishing her wine glass around. “He’s known _______ for seven years. He delved into her personal interests, even the ones he didn’t exactly like. Heeee’s complimented her and took her to her favourite places and saved her life once. If I was him, I’d propose already.”

“I can’t believe they haven’t kissed yet,” Maria comments, sipping her wine. “Seven years of pining, mutual love and they don’t even know it? I’d call that bullshit any day. But there’s a first time for everything.”

“We can’t believe it either,” Wanda agrees. “It’s truly astounding that they cannot freely speak about their feelings for each other. It’s been too long. They need to get a move on.”

“With the way they’re dancing outside,” Natasha interjects, nodding towards the terrace, “I believe they’re doing just that.”

The women turn their attention towards you and Bucky outside, observing your body language and how close you’re dancing. They all sip on their drinks in unison before laying out their guesses about what’s going to happen between you two tonight.

“My guess is that Benny is going to confess first,” Wanda says. “I’d sayyy… when they’re in private so no one can see. Maybe an hour? I don’t know. And he’s going to do it by presenting her with a gift.”

“I second that,” Maria chimes in. “Though I think he’s going to do it when all of us leave.”

“Benny’s the quieter one from what I can tell,” Pepper says. “I think _______ will say she loves him first. And she’s going to do it in a few minutes while they’re having a moment together. Then she’ll kiss him.”

“I too think that _______ will break first,” Natasha agrees. “But she’ll do it in the privacy of one of their rooms once the night is over. She’ll present  _him_  with a gift. Something that’s important to him.”

There’s a small silence before Wanda speaks up again. “All bets are in?” The women nod, all in silent agreement about their inferences. They also decided that the loser(s) must pay up $50 and do something of the winner(s) bidding. It’s a fun little game until you’re told what you must do. Who knows; maybe none of them will win. It’s hard to say when the ending result could go in any direction. Meanwhile, the men are in their own little group, betting on the same thing. But instead of going into detail, they’re just betting on who’s going to break first.

Tony, Sam, Phil, Vision, Happy, and James believe that _______ will confess first, while Steve and Phil believe that Benny will confess first. The losers will have to pay up $100. A steep price, but it’s a fun bet. Might as well raise the odds. It’s a little juvenile for everyone in the room to make bets on who will confess first, but every once in a while the adults can have a little fun.

Back outside, you and Bucky have been laughing nonstop about telling each other funny stories about the past that you haven’t told one another yet. Well, it’s mostly  _you_  doing the storytelling, but it’s nice all the while to hear Bucky laugh and see his beautiful smile. You’re not afraid to look him in the eye anymore; not when you’re having the greatest time of your life with him. But every time to do look in his eyes, you think about just saying it already. To just open your anxious mouth and tell him how much you love him. It seems easy, in theory. You’ve spent enough time together to admit it already, but the nagging thought of him rejecting you is still in the back of your mind.

So when you think he leans in closer to kiss you, you back away and opt for hugging him instead. He’s disappointed to say the least, but he’s not giving up yet. He still has one more chance to prove his love to you. But he’s waiting until you two have some absolute alone time. All he’s waiting for is the newcomers to make their way home. Bucky leads you back inside as he mentions the chillier weather, arm wrapped around your back. Some heads turn in your direction, but you don’t mind. You’re the centre of attention tonight, right?

You yawn for the first time tonight, and feel the fatigue catching up to you. Everyone takes that as a signal for the night to come to a close. Maria, Pepper, James, Phil, and Happy all go to you to give their final goodbyes. But not before paying up. Pepper reluctantly hands over her $50 to Natasha. Natasha isn’t the winner, but Pepper will be notified of who won. As will Maria. The men will find out later as well, when the night is over. For now, they return to the lobby of the Tower and make their way home.

You face your amazing team members and friends, now overwhelmed with how much they did. “Thank you very much for tonight,” you say, smiling tiredly. “It’s surely something I won’t forget. It wasn’t overboard either, so kudos Tony. I don’t have any way to say ‘thank you’ than to just say it, but–“

“That’s all we need to hear, _______,” Steve interjects, smiling warmly. “And that you had a good time, of course.”

“I had a great time, Steve, thanks,” you smile back. “I couldn’t have made it this far without any of here you. Every single one of you have helped me in some way ever since I became a part of the team. This is so cheesy, but you’re my home away from home. I couldn’t ask for more, really. I love you all, and I’m tired as hell, so I’m gonna go to bed.”

You curtsey to them, sputtering a laugh before waving at them and turning around to return to your room. Wanda and Natasha give each other a knowing look before following suit, the men staying behind the clean up.

You don’t know how tired you really are until you try unzipping your dress. You yawn every thirty seconds, and your eyes are droopy. You stop a few times to blink to keep them open. You eventually slip out of your dress and leave it on the floor to put on some pyjama pants and shirt. Then you go to the bathroom to start ridding your face of the beautiful makeup Natasha and Wanda put on. But not before getting a few selfies in.

Back on the party deck, Steve is telling Bucky to get on out of there to do what’s he’s gotta do. Bucky’s about to tell him he has no idea what he’s talking about, but one smirk from Steve tells him to just put down the empty wine bottles and go. He mutters a small thanks to him before skipping up the stairs and to the elevator. Once he reaches his room, he takes the time to practice what he’s going to say to you when he presents you with his gift. He doesn’t rush himself, because he knows you’re a night owl. Then again, you’ve had a lot more drinks tonight than any other special occasion, so a give-and-go might be the useful tactic right now. Sighing deeply, he heads down the hall to your room.

He doesn’t hear anything inside as he approaches your door. Not like he would anyway, but sometimes he hears your music or the shower running. Right now, he hears neither. He takes one more, relaxing breath before raising his hand and knocking on your door. You answer within a few seconds, and do a double-take at him.

“Bucky?” you say, squinting a little. “Is that you?”

“Uhhh,” he hums. “Yes?”

“Really?” you say, opening the door wider. You smile a bit. “Because those aren’t his eyes, or his nose, or his lips.”

“What?” He takes a second to realize that he’s still wearing the face synthetic. He chuckles before removing it with one hand and roughly tucking it into his pocket.

“Ahh, there he is,” you say, stepping aside to let him in.

“Thanks,” he smiles, walking into your room. You close the door behind him and wander over to the window, leaning against the glass. “What brings you by?”

He stands off to the side, hands behind his back, fiddling with the small box he carries. It’s now or never. He clears his throat and sets his gaze upon you. You look incredibly cozy in your pyjamas, and the soft glow of the city coming through the window  _really_ makes him want to kiss you. Hopefully he will, if this ends well. He steps forward with a tender smile on his face, and brings his hand around.

“This,” he begins, “is for you. I know this isn’t your birthday or Christmas or anything, but I thought I’d get you something for your initiation.”

“Bucky, honestly,” you scoff, shaking your head. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I wanted to,” he says. He holds it out further so you’ll take it. You take it with a sigh, still shaking your head. You don’t mind of course, but you honestly were not expecting anything from anyone. It’s a small, rectangular, light blue box with a black ribbon wrapped around it. You undo the ribbon, then lift the lid of the box. Your eyes widen at what’s inside.

“Is this… a mixtape?” Clearly it is, since it has “_______’s Mixtape” scribbled on it. It’s not a  _real_  mixtape, since the casing is rough and looks freshly made.

“Yeah,” he smiles, looking down at it. “I uh… I didn’t really know what to get you, so I made you something instead.”

This means more to you than Bucky thinks. No one’s ever made you a mixtape before, let alone a playlist. Music is something that can always, no matter the situation, make you feel better. Bucky said he didn’t know what to get, but according to you, he got you exactly what you wanted.

“This is… wonderful,” you say, tearing up just a bit. You turn it over in your hands, wondering about how to listen to it. “Um. How do I listen to it?”

“Down here,” he says, pointing to the ports on the underside. “I didn’t know where to find a cassette player, so I went a little modern and did this instead. The actual mixtape is on the inside of this casing, but the earphone jack is here on the bottom. It charges by plugging it into your laptop.”

“Ohhhh.”

You nod along, and look around your room for your headphones. It’s in your purse if you remember correctly. You dig through it as it hangs off your bedpost and grasp your knotted headphones. Bucky’s taking his leave, but you tell him to stay.

“No no no!” you tell him, pulling him back in. “I want you to stay here while I listen to it.”

“I’m not sure if that’s–“

“Hey, I opened it, but I can’t enjoy it to the fullest if you’re not here to see it!”

He sighs, and reluctantly sits down in your desk chair. You excitedly jump on your bed and sit cross-legged against the wall, plug in your headphones, and press play. All the songs Bucky put on the mixtape are love songs, songs that perfectly describe how he feels about you. You don’t know that yet, though. You’re only on the first song. And sooner or later, Bucky will have to face your response, and decide what he’s going to do about it.

As time drifts on, you shift in your bed. Laying on your back, your side, sitting up and bobbing your head. The longer you listen to the mixtape, you realize that he’s used songs from decades ago, and songs that you would know. They all make you smile, simply because Bucky’s the one that put thought into each and every song. You also realize that they all have a common theme: love. At first you thought it was a coincidence, but after half an hour of listening, you know that he did it on purpose. You tilt your head to look at him, and see that he’s pressing his hands together and bouncing his knee a little. You never thought that Bucky Barnes, ex-Sergeant of World War II, would  _confess_  to  _you_  in this way. You pause the mixtape, take your earphones out and sit at the edge of your bed. You try not to smile too much, but now you really can’t help yourself.

You stand up, walk over to him, and tap his head. He flinches a bit but raises his head, and musters up a smile. “Can I get a hug please?” He smiles even more and stands up with you, then wraps his arms tightly around you as you do the same. You have to go on your toes a bit, but it feels so good to hug him that you don’t care. He’s huge, and extremely warm. You press your cheek in his chest and listen to his heartbeat. It’s beating pretty fast, fast enough to match your own.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you say into his chest. “I love it.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispers, reveling in the hug. “I’m glad you like it.”

The both of you are struggling with yourselves, debating whether or not to come out and say damn three words already. You’ve known each other for a while now. You’ve hung out, learned about each other, grew intimately closer… you don’t know what else to do to make the hints ever more obvious. This is the best time, out of all the others, to say it. Your anxiety says no, but your crazy beating heart is screaming “fucking do it”. Sighing, you pull away first, but keep your hands on him. You stare at his chest, and suddenly you feel even more apprehensive about doing this. There’s no other perfect time than now. This is possibly the biggest “fuck it” moment of your life. Better make it worth it.

“Bucky, I–“ you start, ready to give it to him straight. But as you raise your head, you’re caught completely off-guard. He’s staring at you intensely, his eyes boring into yours. You swallow thickly, his expression making you more nervous than you need to be. He sees that he’s made you uncomfortable, so he tries to diffuse the tension by cupping your cheek and brushing his thumb along your skin. Your chest rises and falls in short, deep breaths the longer you stare at him. You’re frozen in place now, questioning if you can bring yourself to do, or say anything.

You can’t gather your thoughts to say anything coherent, so you’re left with your mouth open like a gaping fish. Bucky, on the other hand, takes advantage of that, and smiles at you sweetly.

“I wanted to give you something I know you’d appreciate,” he whispers. He doesn’t want to speak too loudly. Even though it’s just you two in the room, there may be curious ears anywhere. “Picking the songs was the hard part, believe it or not. I wanted to get the words as perfect as I could, and have a clear message. It–“

“I heard your message loud and clear, Bucky,” you interrupt, casting your eyes down at his chest again. “The first few songs I thought it was just dumb luck, but the more I listened to it, the more I understood.” Your heart skips a beat, knowing you’re getting closer and closer to telling him the truth. It’s hot in your chest, and you seem to have lost your train of thought. You don’t know what to say next. You close your eyes, and take a few seconds to brace yourself and look at him again.

“I–“

But he beats you to it. With your face in his hand and the hints all there, he takes his chance. Finally, after waiting for weeks and weeks and thinking about you day and night, finally, he’s making his move.

By kissing you.

Your breath hitches at his sudden action, but almost immediately, you relax into it. You tighten your grip on him, and he pulls you in closer. This is even better than you expected. Despite not being in a relationship with someone for a long time, he kisses you like he’s done it everyday. He was hesitant at first, but he took the chance the moment you looked up at him. After the initial shock he gave himself, he slowly eased into it. You pull away first for some air, letting you and Bucky catch your breath. Your expression is one of surprise, but the corner of your mouth twitches up into a smile. His does as well, and he presses your foreheads together. You bring your hand up and hold onto the back of his neck. You sway slightly back and forth, never letting go of each other.

“I love you.”

All oxygen seems to have left the room when the two of you speak in unison. The small, sudden silence is broken by the swift breath of laughter. And sniffles. Tears flow down your cheeks out of happiness, as does Bucky’s. He hasn’t felt this happy in a very, very long time, and he can’t help but cry about it. After all these years of pain, misery, regret, and self-loathing, he finally has something good in his life again. Something that will keep him going and distract him from all that he’s done.

Bucky wipes your tears away and looks at you with such adoration and compassion that a few more tears slip from your eyes. You hold onto his wrists as he cups both your cheeks and kisses your forehead.

“I love you, _______,” he says again, this time with more confidence. He sounds out of breath again, but he means it all the same.

“I love you too, Bucky,” you say, still in disbelief. You drop your hands to hug him again, and happily breathe him in. He smells like leftover cologne and wine. “Sure took us long enough, huh?”

“Too long,” he agrees, smoothing down your hair. He smiles when he smells the flowery shampoo in your hair. You feel so comfortable in his arms, and he doesn’t want to let you go. But it’s late, and both of you need to get some sleep. This time, he pulls away first, and brushes some hair away from your face before kissing your cheek.

“Goodnight, _______,” he says. He reluctantly lets you go and makes way for the door, but you tug on his hand. He turns back around when you do that.

“Stay,” you insist, softly pulling him back in. He doesn’t answer, but he allows himself to be guided to your bed. You carefully wrap up your mixtape and put it down on the desk before returning to your newfound lover. You smile nervously and scratch the back of your neck. “Is that alright with you?”

Sleeping in the same bed with you would be incredible, but also unpredictable. He doesn’t know if he’d choke you in your sleep or violently kick you out of bed–and not in a funny way. He’s loud when he has nightmares, and he doesn’t want you to be on the receiving end of his anger. But he knows you’re not made of glass. You can very well handle yourself in almost every situation. Besides, you’re insisting. How could he say no?

“Okay,” he says after thinking it over. “Just give me a second.”

He leaves the room to go back to his and change into some appropriate pyjamas. Surely sleeping in just his underwear would be fine, but this is the first time sleeping with you. He doesn’t want to push it. He comes back in a tank top and sweat pants, and sees you’ve already cuddled yourself into bed. You look over your shoulder when you hear the door open, and smile when you see him.

 _I get to cuddle_ that _? Damn._

You pull the covers back, silently inviting him in. He slides in next to you, and you push yourself against the wall to give him some more room. It’s a kind of tight fit, but it won’t matter when you’re holding onto one another. You throw the blankets over him, and shuffle in closer, tucking your arm around his waist underneath. He wraps his around your back and pulls you in until you’re nose-to-nose with him. You giggle at him and boop your noses together.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you say, pecking his lips before sliding down to press your face into his chest.

“Goodnight, _______,” he says, settling down himself. He kisses your forehead once more, and lulls himself to sleep by thinking about all of the things that he’s going to experience with you in this new light.


	15. Dor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dor (Romanian): the emotional pain of being separated from the one you love

You’ve been told by Maeve that you’re over-exaggerating things a little, in regards to Bucky. You FaceTimed her and said how he makes your day ten times better, your smile brighter, and your attitude higher. You’ve gushed and gushed to her about him; about the night of your party and what he did during, and after, when he went to your room to tell you how he feels. You were rolling around on your bed as you told her everything you love about him, and how freeing it is to finally let him know that you feel the same way. But despite Maeve rolling her eyes at your actions, she was genuinely happy for you. She’s never seen you so hyped up about something before; not even when she helped you get your first job.

It’s been nine days since the party.

The teasing began immediately the morning after, as you and Bucky emerged from the same room and went upstairs to be served breakfast. The only ones up at the time were Steve, Sam, and Tony, but when they all gave you two one glance, they knew. They  _knew_. Steve smiled to himself while Tony and Sam tried to suppress theirs. Sam was being obvious about it though, leaning against the counter and swishing his coffee around while giving you a nod, the creep of his smile disappearing behind his mug. Tony, on the other hand, took his breakfast and gave you a small pat on the shoulder and whispering, “Good job kid” and walking away. You stared at his retreating back while trying to sink into the floor. When you faced Sam and Steve again, they were sporting giant grins. You couldn’t help but smile yourself, despite the redness in your cheeks. Bucky had no idea what was going on. He was way too drowsy to read between the lines.

Natasha and Wanda were, of course, very supportive of what had transpired. They were not shy at all about showing their congratulations; mostly by stating the obvious. Vision added in his congratulations as well, but for a different reason. He didn’t know why Natasha and Wanda started laughing, but he did not mind. As long as everyone was having a good morning, then he could live without being a part of a few inside jokes.

Bucky finally realized what was happening Natasha and Wanda showed up. He was in the middle of eating his eggs when they made their congratulations abundantly clear. He hid himself from them for a bit to recover himself. He wasn’t embarrassed about what happened; he just didn’t know that it’d be so obvious for everyone to figure out. Apparently he was unintentionally transparent.

You didn’t mind the attention. You firstly told Natasha and Wanda that no, you and Bucky  _did not_  sleep together in  _that_  way, to clear up any confusion and misplaced blessings. They were not disappointed at all. Confession usually comes during times like those, but they were glad you two had vocalized your feelings first before being physical about it. Wanda was  _truly_  surprised to hear that you were the one that offered Bucky your bed after the affirmation. Natasha suggested to do that more often from now on. You had already planned on it.

After those nine days of teasing, laughs, secrecy, memorable moments, and general all-around fun, you all flew back to the compound in L.A. You all settled back in quickly, but unfortunately for you, about an hour after shaking off your weariness, you received a call from your mother, asking you to come visit. That very second. You honestly wanted to, and you were already packed. It had been months since you had last seen them, and it’d be nice to visit your home again. Plus, Nico and Dani were probably having a fit about not seeing nor hearing from you in  _forever_. So you said yes, despite some minor protest from Bucky and co. It would only be for two weeks, and you needed to be in a familiar place and feel at ease. And off you were again, back to Toronto to see Maeve, Nico, and Dani, and then to your hometown to see your family.

In the meantime, Bucky was allowed a phone (an iPhone, of course), at his request. But his only contacts were Tony, Natasha, Wanda, Steve, Sam, and you. He didn’t care. That’s all he needed. He enlisted Steve’s help at times when he couldn’t remember something you said about downloading and using apps. Steve had a laugh here and there whenever Bucky got frustrated, but he was patient. Eventually, Bucky got the apps his wanted and soon enough, he was SnapChatting you. Texting across countries costs money, so he went the cheapest (and most fun) route. You were surprised to see that he had added you as a friend. Though you were confused at first as to why some guy named “bbb_wwii” wanted to add you. You accepted and in no time at all, Bucky sent his first snap to you.

The whole two weeks back home was like this: using SnapChat as a means of communication. You did not show him to  _anyone_ , save for Maeve once because she can’t help herself. And because she’s tremendous at keeping secrets. Steve and the others contacted you as well, but you made damn well sure that your family and friends weren’t around to hear it, nor see it.

Bucky was jittery and bored out of his mind while you were away. He kept himself “busy” by working out, sleeping in, and using his phone to get used to it. He cracked the top left corner of his phone because he was so frustrated about you not being there with him. Mind you, he understood that you needed to see your family and friends again, but those nine days together at the Tower in New York just wasn’t enough to keep him satisfied. He needed more. A lot more. He didn’t realize how much he would miss you until he had someone in his life again. He yearned for you, and was harshly reminded every morning that you wouldn’t be there to greet him and kiss him (in private, anyway; he doesn’t know how much he can handle kissing you in front of everyone yet).

The night before you came back to the compound, Bucky couldn’t sleep. He was too excited, and ended up wandering around until sunrise. He managed to nap for two hours before waking up again and starting his day. He had a few cups of coffee to wake himself up for when you returned, and wanted to be the first one to see you. He’d earned his right to be the first person you see when you come back from somewhere. Or he thought he did. Either way, he wanted to be waiting at the front doors of the compound, risks be damned. He couldn’t wait to see you. And you couldn’t either.

At the crisp time of nine in the morning on September 3rd, you got on your flight back to Los Angeles. You were extremely tired, both physically and the notion of going back-and-forth between countries. But finally, you were going to stay in L.A. for the foreseeable future. Hopefully. You fast walked through the airport after getting your luggage. You let Tony know you’d be returning, so he sent a private van for you to take. You found your chauffeur and went off down the streets of New York until the compound came into view. You didn’t know you’d miss it this much. But now you’re sure that this will always be your second home.

The agent pulls up at the end of the driveway, and lets you carry your own luggage since it’s one bag and a suitcase. You breathe in the fresh air, the recently cut grass, and feel the sun beaming on your skin. It’s nearing autumn, but the weather is still well in summer. You slowly stroll up the driveway, taking in the familiar scenery, smiling to yourself. It feels like it’s been forever since you’ve been at the compound. And even longer since you’ve seen everyone. Bucky, in particular, since past events.

As you close in on the entrance, you can see multiple employees making their way around. You don’t know how many of them know about Bucky’s presence, but given Tony’s strict attitude about him, you guess it’s kept to a minimal. He can’t even trust his own friends to know that the ex-Winter Soldier has been staying in the Avengers’ compound. Nevertheless, the smaller the friend group, the better. The best way to keep information from getting leaked. No need to have every person in the world turn their heads to the Avengers and their seemingly betrayal.

You smile and nod at people that welcome you back as you make your way upstairs. You hardly know any of the employees and agents that go in and out of the compound everyday, but you’re anything if not polite. You nearly scream in excitement as you step out of the elevator and see the cutest smile awaiting you down the hall.

“Wanda!”

You throw your bag and suitcase to the floor to sprint down the hall and collide with her in a gripping hug. You shift on your feet as you tighten your arms around her, and almost cry from not seeing her in so long.

“Your back,” she says happily.

“I’m back,” you echo, keeping your sniffles to a minimum.

“How was your trip?” she asks, pulling away but keeping her hold on your arms.

“It was great,” you reply honestly. “Everyone kept bugging me about seeing all the photos I’ve allegedly been taking, but I said due to privacy issues I couldn’t show them anything.”

“And they bought it?”

“My family is pretty gullible when you know what to say.”

You spend a few more minutes summarizing your trip back to the Great White North with Wanda before someone else walks in. She smiles mischievously over your shoulder, and as you turn around, you nearly cry on the spot. Bucky smiles softly at you, and you return it. Wanda pats your shoulder and quietly slips away to let you two have a moment together. As soon as she walks away, you approach Bucky and tightly wraps your arms around his chest. He does the same, and gently sways you side to side. You breathe him in, and he smells like… Bucky. You grin and hum in the back of your throat contently.

“Hi,” he whispers into your hair.

“Hello,” you greet, nuzzling into him.

Neither of you speak for a bit. You just take the time to bask in each other’s company, getting used to being in the other’s arms. The two of you spent a lot of time together in the Tower, and occasionally slept in the same bed. Bucky claimed it helped him sleep a little bit better. Despite that being true, it didn’t stop the sly smiles being thrown in your direction by basically everyone but Tony and Vision. You didn’t mind, but you can’t say the same for Bucky. He made his complaints to you in private, though he was just mildly annoyed. It’s all light-hearted fun until it goes on for too long.

You pull away slightly to loosely hang onto his waist and look at him. He smiles gently at you and leans down to kiss your forehead. You don’t react at all, but that’s because you swallowed your squeal to replace it with a smile. Forehead kisses are your favourite kind of kisses. They’re cuter and more affectionate than lip and cheek kisses. Of course, he moves down to your cheek and lips afterwards, but your initial surprise is still etched into your face.

“Welcome home,” he says, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Good to be back,” you say, sighing contently.

“How was it?”

“Oh, you know. Bombarded with questions, demands to see photos I can’t release.”

“Sooo… good?”

“Yeah, it was good. They believed everything I said, and I avoided anything that had to do with the incidents here and in San Francisco. And, of course, anything about you.”

His smile falls just a bit, but he knows you can’t tell anyone about him. Well,  _no one_  is supposed to know about him living with the Avengers. The allegations and consequences would be catastrophic if the public found out.

“It sucks, though,” you say, lowering your gaze to his chest. “I would like to tell my–well, I don’t particularly like telling my  _family_ about new people in my life, but my friends? Definitely. Telling them about how great you are and how much better you’re doing. But I guess I can only tell the team that. I told Maeve, though. She forgets things sometimes and wouldn’t even think to tell any of her friends about the team. She’s too preoccupied. But she’s only got three months left of school until she’s finished her second year.”

“How many more does she have?”

“Two. She’ll be a graduate of interior environmental design soon enough. She’s very excited.”

“I bet. Sounds like she really wants to make a change.”

“Lord knows she’s all about that. She’s very green and wants to make her own greenhouse. She wants to make the world healthy again.”

“Just like you are.”

“I’m bettering the world in my own way. I think. I hope I am.”

“Trust me. You are.”

You smile a bit more, but you can’t help but feel inadequate at times. You’ve done a great amount of things, but you know you can’t do everything and be there for everyone when they need you. It eats you at the core, and thinking about the notion that “we can’t save everyone” isn’t good enough for you, no matter how many times Steve says it. But that’s an angst-y situation to deal with another time. Now, you really need to spend time with Bucky.

You press yourself into him again, sighing tiredly. “I missed you,” you mumble, closing your eyes and yawning.

“I missed you, too,” he whispers back, kissing the top of your head.

“This is probably very rude of me and Steve will chastise me for it later,” you start, peering up at Bucky. He looks back with a glint in his eye. “But the jetlag is catching up to me. Wanna have a nap?”

He can’t refuse you when you blink slowly at him like a cat and look so cozy. He smiles and nods, and lets himself be whisked away to your room. You grumble to yourself as you go back out to grab your suitcase and bag and drag it back to your room. You shove them in a corner and throw on an old shirt and shorts then turn off the lights before climbing into bed with Bucky. He’s left his pants and long-sleeve shirt on, and happily welcomes you. You moan contently as you snuggle against his chest, tucking your knees in and cozying up to him. He’s hesitant about wrapping his metal arm around you; he always is. And even though you tell him every time that it’s okay, he’s still unsure of himself. He never knows what could happen. And he’s just generally uncomfortable about it anyway. And it’s not that you don’t care about what he thinks; you recognize the horror he’s been through. All you want to do is give him another reason–a  _better_ reason–to appreciate it. You lift his arm yourself and wrap it around your shoulder. He pauses for a moment before sighing and lowering it and pulling you to his chest. You yawn again and tangle your legs with his to gather some warmth.

“You’re so comfy,” you mutter, nuzzling your nose into him. You shiver when his hand grazes the back of your neck, and he notices.

“Sorry,” he says, retracting his hand. You grab his wrist.

“It’s fine, really,” you tell him, opening your eyes. Pulling your lips to the side, you contemplate about trying something you haven’t done before. It’s best not to use Bucky’s hand to do it, so you let it go and sit up to see if it’ll work.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Just wanna try something.”

You’ve never tried to regulate your body temperature before, since you didn’t really have a need to. But since Bucky’s metal arm is as cold as ice, you need to improvise if you want him to hold you while you sleep. After taking a deep breath, you close your eyes to concentrate. You don’t really know what to do, since you’re producing heat  _inside_  of you instead of outside. You didn’t try this before at the Tower, since you were too excited about sleeping with Bucky to care. But now that you have time to experiment, you might as well.

You imagine producing flames along your arms, but keep the expanding radius to the very minimum. You scrunch your nose as you can feel the flicker of flames rising to your forearms. Bucky jumps and moves back against the wall in surprise.

“Shit. Sorry,” you say, eyes still closed. Bucky keeps his distance while you continue your trial run. Your face gets scrunchier the longer you drag this out with no perfect results. Opening your eyes, you decide to just fire up your arms for a few seconds before dispelling them. Bucky watches on with wide eyes as your forearms and hands just light up in flames. Once they’re gone, you press your arms to your legs, and sigh contently from how warm it feels.

“Alrighty, looks like that’s all I have to do.”

Smiling, you pull the blankets over yourself again and peek up at Bucky. He’s still a little shaken, but you hold your arm out to him.

“I promise I won’t light you on fire in your sleep,” you say.

Shaking his head, Bucky grins and slides back down with you, and keeps his metal arm firmly wrapped around your back. He can feel the heat from your arms against his chest, sending shivers down his spine. You smirk to yourself a little, but otherwise don’t say anything. You press your ear against his chest to listen to his heart. It makes you giggle to yourself; it’s such a cliché to listen to the beat of your partner’s heart, but you love every second of it. It’s a lot better as well when their heart beats faster because of you.

“G’nite,” you say, yawning for the last time.

“Goodnight, _______,” Bucky smiles.

As you doze off to sleep, Bucky stays awake for a few more minutes to look at you. He was like this back in the Tower as well. You would fall asleep first, and then he would take the time to  _really_  look at you. See if there’s anything he missed or overlooked the whole time he’s known you. Any freckles, colours in your hair, unnoticeable scars. So far, he’s found nothing out of the ordinary. But he’s only gotten a look at your shoulders and above. Nothing below. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get that opportunity, but it doesn’t bother him. He still loves you just the same.

He pushes your hair back behind your ear and caresses your cheek. As he brushes his thumb across your lips, he notices that you’ve been taking care of them. He still feels one small dry patch, but you’re getting better. He suspects that you didn’t kiss him as often in private at the Tower because you’re insecure about your lips and how often you pick at them. He also believes that you only pick at them when your anxious, stressed, or both. It happens often, so you may be hiding more than one would think. Nevertheless, Bucky will only bring it up when he deems it safe to talk about it.

After gazing lovingly at you and admiring your sleeping form for a few more minutes, Bucky finally closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep with you.

* * *

 

You wake up three hours later, around six o’clock, still pressed into Bucky’s chest. You’re incredibly warm, but it’s not uncomfortable. As long as you’re not sweating, you’re okay. You blink hardly to wake yourself up before rubbing your eyes. Yawning widely, you look up at Bucky and see he’s still asleep. You smile sleepily at him and scoot up a little to kiss his cheek. He scrunches his nose at your action but doesn’t wake up. Instead, he shifts himself around until he’s the one clinging to you.

_You’re so cute what the fuck._

You settle back down and begin stroking his hair. You love it when Bucky’s the one holding you, but every now and then you enjoy feeling him and being able to show him how much you love and appreciate him. You attempt to deliberately quicken the beat of your heart to see if he notices. He could still be fast asleep, but even you can feel it start to pound against your chest. You flow your fingers through his hair and lightly scratch the back of his neck. He mumbles in his sleep, and you can’t tell if he’s trying to say something or if he’s finally waking up. But he goes still, and then you hear his rhythmic breathing.

_I love you so much goddamn._

Being able to say how much you love him to his face is a huge weight off your shoulders. Time and time again you found yourself on the verge of telling him, but you would always bite your tongue. But now, you don’t have to worry about that. All you have to worry about is  _him_ , in the relationship sense now. Then again… you still worried about him before. It’ll be no different now. However, now that you’ve grown as close as you can possibly be  _physically_ , you want to get on his emotional level and mental state. You helped him before with erasing his trigger words. Now comes everything associated with it. You don’t need a big story or confession all at once. Bits and pieces will suffice until he’s ready to talk about more. But you desperately want to alleviate some of the pain and burdens he carries.

You run your hand up and down his back, feeling his muscles twitch under your touch. You grin and press your lips to his forehead, and whisper the sweetest things he deserves to hear.

“You’re so amazing, you know that?” you whisper, twirling his hair around your finger. “You are not what people say you are. You are not evil, you are not vile, you are not a bad person. You are kind, gentle, funny, caring, compassionate, creative, and ever so loving. How are you real, huh? You just…” You start to become less eloquent, but you have so much love for him, and want to give to him, that you can’t speak clearly. “You’re so incredible, and you don’t even know it. You have so much to give. So much love, intelligence, sympathy. Hell, you could even talk to veterans about your own experiences about the war and how hard it was for you after your imprisonment. Well, maybe not  _everything_ , but enough to let them know that they’re not alone.”

You stop playing with his hair and instead wrap your arm loosely around his neck to cradle his head. You sigh softly to yourself, thinking of all the things Bucky could do to speak out about what he’s been through. Writing definitely helps you out sometimes, and Bucky seems like a writer. Or maybe that’s just Steve. Either way, there’s hundreds of methods for him to manage his anger, sadness, and trauma.

Bucky shifts again in your arms, and stretches his legs before groaning. You look down at him, and see his eyelashes fluttering as he blinks awake. You smile sweetly, happy beyond measure to be able to see him wake up in such a manner. He glances to his left, then lifts his head to see you peering down at him.

“Morning, sunshine,” you tell him, brushing the hair away from his face.

“Hey,” he says, voice laced with fatigue. “What time is it?”

“Dunno,” you shrug. “Haven’t checked.”

He wipes his eyes as he rolls onto his back, yawning widely. He feels slightly disoriented, since it’s gotten darker outside and he didn’t know where he was for a moment. After shaking off his drowsiness, he turns to you. You’re both laying on your sides, just staring at each other; simply admiring. He reaches forward with his left hand, and pulls you closer by the back of your neck so he can kiss you. Without hesitation, you slide against him, instantly melting about how gentle he is. You begin smiling, so much that you have to stop.

“Sorry,” you say, leaning your forehead on his. “Kissing you makes me really happy and I can’t help but smile.”

He honestly doesn’t know what to say to that. Instead, he just tightly wraps his arms around you and rolls back and forth in bed with you giggling beneath him. You cling to him like a koala, and happily hum into his chest.

“This makes me happy too,” you say as you squeeze him some more.

“Mm, me too,” he agrees, kissing the top of your head.

You don’t want to get out of bed now. All you want to do is cuddle the hell out of Bucky and be the cutest, most disgusting couple there ever was. You want to play with his hair and his hands and plant kisses on every inch of his body and tell him how much he means to you and shower him with undying love and affection. Unfortunately, that’ll have to wait until a later time. Everyone is (hopefully) dying to see you again, so it’s best to freshen up a bit and greet them properly.

You reluctantly roll out of Bucky’s grasp and stretch on your way to your dresser. When you find none of your okay-looking casual shirts, you search through your closet instead. You discard your pyjama shirt and throw on a simple black camisole with a grey cardigan. Colourful pyjama pants replace your shorts, and you give a quick brush through your hair before joining Bucky at your bedroom door. There’s no need for him to change, since he was already wearing clothes when he napped with you. You quickly nuzzle into his shoulder then walk around him to open the door and go see the team. It’s about dinnertime, so someone should be in the kitchen.

Turns out, it’s all the men.

Tony, Steve, Sam, and Vision are all working together to make something for themselves. Steve is at the stove, minding something in a pot. Perhaps some more stew? Tony is telling him to move so he can get into the oven to mind his lasagna. Sam is defrosting meat in the microwave, and poor Vision is patiently waiting his turn to use the appliances. He’s the first to notice your and Bucky’s presence.

“Good evening, Mr. Barnes, _______,” he greets. At the mention of your names, Tony, Steve, and Sam stop what they’re doing and turn around simultaneously. Steve and Sam instantly brighten up while Tony gives you a mocking smile.

“Hellooo,” you say quietly, feeling like you’ve just interrupted an important meeting. Steve lets go of his spoon and Sam ignores the microwave’s beeping to rush over and give you a hug. They sandwich you and lift you off the floor, squeezing the life out of you. You definitely appreciate the fact that they missed you, but two bara-sized men giving you a sandwich hug actually  _hurts_.

“Okay guys,” you squeak. “That’s enough. I got it. Holy shit I can’t breathe!” They lower you to the ground with the biggest grins on their faces.

“Welcome back, Spyro,” Sam says, giving your hair a shake.

“We missed you here, _______,” Steve chimes in, clapping you on the back.

“I missed you guys, too,” you say, fixing your mess of a head now. “It’s nice to see you guys again. You too, Tony, Vision.”

“No one had a meltdown about it, so there was no counselling needed because of your departure,” Tony smiles.

“Yeah, I sure as hell didn’t miss that,” you say, regarding his snarkiness. “But I did miss you, honestly.”

“…so did I,” he replies more genuinely. “It’s good to see you.”

“I did miss your energy,” Vision comments, swiveling around in his bar stool. “It is very good to have you back.”

“Thanks very much,” you say, nodding at him. “Good to be back. Now. Where the hell is my favourite mentor ever?”

“Natasha?” Steve asks. You nod. “She should still be upstairs, playing games by herself.”

“Oh. I’ll go see her then!”

Steve asks you about Wanda, but you tell him you saw her before you took a nap with Bucky. And on that note, you take the stairs to meet with Natasha. Steve raises his brows and gives Bucky a knowing look, but Bucky just shrugs him off. Though he can’t hide the smile that appears as he sits down in the living room to watch some late night TV.

Upstairs, you open doors to a few rooms to see if Natasha is training by herself or if she’s actually playing games like Steve said. You never know sometimes with Natasha. Words have a double meaning with her. You finally find her in one of the studies, playing pool with Wanda. Unbeknownst to any of the men, apparently. They put down their cue sticks when they see you approaching, and round the table to hug you individually.

Natasha goes first, and you almost start crying from how good it feels to held by her again. You don’t know what it is, but Natasha’s hugs are so comforting, secure, and makes it seem like everything is going to be alright. You give Wanda another hug after Natasha, because it’d be rude not to. And also because she has really great hugs as well.

“Glad to see you in one piece,” Natasha says. “I assume your family had a mountain of pestering questions about your questionable time away from home.”

“Plenty,” you say. “But I dodged them all. If they got too pushy I’d just tell them to let it go. Or think of things up on the spot. Soon enough they all shut up about it.”

“Well. Seems like you’ve improved at improvising on the spot,” Natasha says, visibly pleased. “There were no suspicions? Not even about the newest addition to the Avengers? Or the scar on your leg?”

“Ehhh,” you say, wiggling your hand. “They’re easy to fool. It was no problem. They did ask about that, though. They said that we looked similar, but I kept telling them off. That it wasn’t me. And they bought it. I also wore pants and dresses that went past my knees to hide that fact. Now  _that_  would raise a lot of questions. But everything went over smoothly.”

“If only every enemy was like that,” Wanda chimes in, chuckling. “It’d make our jobs a whole lot easier.”

“No kidding,” you agree. “But we can’t always get what we want. Easily, anyway.”

The three of you share a small moment together before Wanda and Natasha continue their game of pool. You stay and watch, of course, and talk about what transpired in those two weeks back home. You try to avoid bringing up Bucky’s name accidentally, because you know they’re brimming with questions about him. You will tell them of course, but after the story is finished. And if one of them brings it up first.

You manage to keep everything under control for half an hour. You joined in on a game, two-against-one, with you being by yourself. It gave you something to do with your hands besides just walking around the table, and you just wanted to play. The first game went well. You lost, but you didn’t care. Now, halfway through the second round, Natasha casually brings up the topic you’ve been dreading and expecting.

“So how’s Bucky?” she asks, standing off to the side. Luckily she is, because you send the cue ball flying across the table and onto the floor. You hang your head in embarrassment. You walk over to get it before answering her, keeping your enjoyment and excitement to a minimum.

“He’s good,” you reply, setting the cue ball back in its position. You chalk up your stick and bend over the table to make your shot; and this time, Natasha doesn’t say anything. You stand up straight and use your stick for support while Wanda makes her shot.

“Just ‘good’?” Wanda asks then, looking at her options. “I’d say he’s really good.” You can hear the smile in her voice without having to see her face. You can’t resist smiling anymore and just let it happen. You look up at them through your hair and snort as you gaze at the floor again.

“Yes, fine, okay,” you sigh, twirling your stick. “He’s really good. Actually, he’s great. I’ve never seen him smile so much before. It’s very assuring. For now, I’m just keeping things fun, light, and comfortable. I’m not going to ask him anything about what happened until he’s ready. Or something happens and he has to talk about it. So until that happens, I’m keeping my mouth shut.”

“Though things seem to be progressing quite quickly,” Natasha says. She makes her shot after you and then continues on. “One kiss and you invite him to bed? That’s pretty bold.”

“I couldn’t help it!” you defend, hiding your face from her. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. And he said yes! So it all worked out! I got to snuggle against him and hold him and kiss him and be gross with him.”

“’Be gross’?” Wanda repeats, raising a brow. “As in, being cute orrr–?”

“Being  _cute_ ,” you clarify, your cheeks going red. “We’re not even  _close_  to  _that_  yet.”

“Okay,” Wanda says, hands raised in defense. “But please do tell when you do.”

“Oh my  _god_ , let me  _live_.”

(Though you secretly wish you and Bucky  _were_  in fact closer to that).

The three of you share a lot of laughs and stories for a little while longer before your stomach growls. You insist to finish the game first before going back downstairs to get something to eat. Natasha and Wanda agree, and they quickly beat you again. You comically toss your stick on the table before storming out of there and back to the stairwell. Natasha and Wanda laugh on their way out, following closely behind you. The men, Bucky included, are still lounging about in the kitchen and living room, anticipating all of your returns.

“Annnd look who it is,” Sam says, beating everyone to the punch. “Glad to have all three of you back. We made several dishes. Help yourselves.”

You salute him before sliding into the kitchen and finding what’s good. You see Steve’s lovely chicken stew, half of Tony’s lasagna, Sam’s parmesan meatballs, and Vision’s frozen chocolate mousse. Looks he like was in charge of dessert tonight. You decide to take one of each: a small bowl of stew, accompanied by a plate of three meatballs, one square of lasagna, and one slice of chocolate mousse. Natasha and Wanda follow suit, and then you all settle down together with the men. You plop yourself down beside Bucky, of course, and offer him some of your dinner. He takes some lasagna and soup, and is very aware of the eyes on him. You give them all a look to make them stop and go back to what they were doing. Thankfully, they do.

The night goes on quietly and normally, for once. You smile at the comfort everyone brings you, and shamelessly lean against Bucky for support. Every now and then you offer him some food again, and he would accept. You guess that he hadn’t eaten, but it doesn’t bother you to have him mooch. It’s cute to feed him. You get caught up on what had been happening while you were away. Nothing too extravagant; but Steve does quietly mention to you that Bucky was craving your affectionate touches. Bucky quickly glares at him then shifts closer to you in response. You grin at Steve and he returns it, leaving Bucky to be a grump about it.

After finishing your dinner, you wrap your arm around Bucky’s and stretch along the length of the couch. You continue to talk with everyone, and no one mentions anything about your newfound relationship with Bucky. You’re grateful, because you don’t think Bucky would feel comfortable speaking about it. He joins in on the conversations as well, much to your happiness. He still isn’t exactly buddy-buddy with everyone, but you’re happy that he’s willing to communicate with everyone and ease some tension. You don’t see much of that anymore between him and Sam. But you don’t know how well they’ve grown together. You guess you’ll find out soon enough.

While the team makes their way to bed, you, Bucky, and Steve stay out in the living room for a little while longer. You’re suspicious as to why Steve isn’t heading to his room, but you suspect that he wants to talk to you about something. Or talk to you  _and_  Bucky about something. Either way, you’re slightly anxious about it.

You shout your goodnights and wave as one by one, they all start to leave. Steve waits until everyone is completely out of earshot to start speaking–even though it’s just above a whisper.

“So,” he begins, folding his hands in his lap. He stares down at them before raising his head and smiling softly at you and Bucky. “How are you two?”

The look on Steve’s face tells you that he wants to know  _exactly_  what’s going on. He seems pleased and relieved at the same time that yourself and Bucky have finally gotten together. Now he wants to be a little shit and be informed about what’s been happening between you two.

_He’s not so innocent, is he? I bet he’s a gossip._

“We’re fine,” you reply lamely. Bucky nods along, wondering why Steve is cornering you and him like this. Then again, Steve kept checking on him while you were gone, so now he wants the second side to the story.

“Are you ‘fine’, or ‘ _really fine_ ’,” Steve asks, leaning forward. He’s got a small smirk on his face now. You blow your lips.

“Oh, Steve,” you start, sitting up. “I think you’d know by now that you’re only going to get one answer out of me. And that is: we are  _fine_. I’m not gonna say anything with Bucky here. Otherwise I’d probably just embarrass myself. And Bucky, unintentionally of course. So if you wanna know something, come ask us individually. That’s the only way you’re gonna get the answers you want.”

And with that, you stand up, lean down to give Bucky a kiss, smirk at Steve, and then trot away to your room with your heart pounding in your chest. Both Bucky and Steve stare at you wide-eyed as you leave, shockingly dumbfounded. Steve looks at Bucky, and Bucky looks at Steve. They both share a smile before laughing together. Bucky leans back in his seat and wipes his hands down his face.

“I love her, man,” he says, staring at the ceiling. He runs a hand through his hair, and shakes his head. “I don’t even… Like… I can’t…” He’s speechless. He’s too overwhelmed with emotion to even speak. Steve beams at him.

“I’m really glad you two found each other,” he says. “It’s great to see you so smitten again.”

“I’m not  _smitten_ , Steve,” Bucky scoffs. “I’m–“

“Taken? Shocked? Amazed? Astonished? Hopelessly in love? Take your pick.”

Steve is having so much fun with this. He’s extremely pleased with himself. Every chance he got, Steve would ask Bucky how he was doing, what he was thinking about, and if he missed you at all. On several occasions, Steve caught Bucky off-guard and Bucky nearly injured himself in the weights room, choked on his food, and spat out his water. It’s one of Steve’s favourite past-times, and he is genuinely happy for Bucky. Seeing him smile without a care in the world is something that Steve could definitely get used to.

“But seriously, Bucky,” Steve beings again, the teasing tone gone from his voice. “I’m really happy for you. You seem to be too.”

“I’ve told you that I am,” Bucky says, turning his head to look at him. “Every time you asked me how I was feeling I said that I was happy. When you asked me if I missed her? I said that I did. Every damn day. When you asked me if I would take a jet up north to be with her? I said I’d do it in a heartbeat. I love her a lot, Steve. It sucked when she was gone. It physically hurt to be away from her. How does that even happen? I kept in touch with her though using my phone, but it didn’t feel like enough. I wanted to hold her and be with her. Sending and receiving photos and videos is nice and all, but I prefer face-to-face interaction. Like, Steve. You don’t understand. She’s–“

Steve sits back quietly and listens to Bucky ramble on about what he loves about you. The way you kiss him, how you hold him sometimes while you sleep, how excited you get when you’re explaining something you love; but the thing that gets him the most is the way you look at him. Like he’s the most beautiful thing in the world. You’ve told him that before, but he didn’t really believe it. Rather, he doesn’t believe it himself. But one look in your eyes tells him that you  _absolutely_  believe it. He remembers girls back in the day giving him flirtatious glances and admirable expressions, but he didn’t spend enough time with them to experience what he is with you right now. It makes his heart swell.

“–and you wouldn’t believe the amount of times she tried to braid my hair but couldn’t. She claims she knows how to, but she’s just bad at it. I had to show her a few tips to keep the braid tight. Can you believe that? I’ve never met a girl that couldn’t braid. It was funny and cute to see her struggle.”

Once Bucky stops rant, he turns towards Steve, and sees that soft, proud smile on his face. Steve drops his hand from his face and sighs contently at his best friend.

“You’ve got it bad, Buck,” he says. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“What can I say?” Bucky shrugs, smiling all the while. “I love her, Steve.”

“That you do. Have you told her any of this?”

“In a way. I’ve told her I love her and miss her. But not as… intimately, I guess.”

“You have a whole lot of time to do that,” Steve says, standing up. “If I were you, I would tell her that every time she came back from somewhere. I’m sure she’d love it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that, he gives Bucky’s shoulder a quick squeeze, smiles at him, and heads to bed. Bucky smiles back, but waits a few moments before doing the same thing to collect himself. Steve, as per usual, is right. He should definitely be more descriptive about his feelings towards you when you go away, and just in general. So far he’s been generic, and said all the same things up until now. He won’t do it tonight, though. Another day perhaps. He nods to himself about that plan, then dawdles off to bed to be with you.

* * *

 

_Three weeks later. September 24 th._

Things have returned back to normal back at the compound. You picked up your daily routine again, albeit slowly. Bucky made it a bit more difficult. It’s hard to get out of bed when he’s sleeping so soundly beside you. To your surprise, he hasn’t woken up in a cold sweat or yelled in his sleep. You suppose that by sleeping together with you, he’s more relaxed and feels safer. That’s just an inference, and you’re not sure how he’d react if you asked him. It’s best to just avoid it for now.

Nevertheless, you made up a new training schedule to keep yourself from slacking. And it turns out that BTS released a song titled “DNA”. A perfect way for you to get back into the groove of dancing as a warm-up. The practice video hasn’t been released yet, but the song is enough to have you jumping around.

You don’t know how well you managed to maintain your fighting and defence skills, since you had no reason to use them while you were visiting your family. You feel kind of rusty without even trying. That’s why you asked Steve and Natasha to practice with you after you had your breakfast and thirty-minute cardio session. They agreed, of course. But this time it was going to be much more fun.

You meet with them in the training room where Natasha taught you how to use a gun. It’s much less intimidating to see them because they’re both wearing normal workout clothes, just like yourself. They greet you with a smile and a “ready to get started?” You nod enthusiastically, and begin with basic maneuvering skills with Natasha. With Steve it’s slightly more advanced because he’s bigger, but you eventually find your rhythm. Soon enough, your combat instincts return, and you’re on par with the pair of them. You slip up a few times because of some distracting thoughts, but you shake them off and instead use them as motivation.

Natasha and Steve use them as opportunities.

As you’re squaring off with Steve, he brings up the topic of your painfully obvious thoughts.

“You and Bucky sleep together again?”

You throw yourself off-balance and end up with a punch to the stomach. You go down on one knee to catch your breath and glare at Steve.

“You… little… shit,” you wheeze. Steve cups his hand over his ear, implying he didn’t hear you clearly enough. You narrow your eyes at him. “Yes, we did, Nosy Nelly.” You stand up again when you’ve gathered your strength, and turn to Natasha this time, fists raised.

“Keep your arms steady,” she says as she begins attacking. “Feet shoulder-width apart. Find your balance, read your opponent’s moves, and remember to always kiss Bucky in the morning.”

That certain comment lands you a sock to the jaw. You stumble backward and rub your cheek, staring at Natasha in shock. They’re definitely screwing with you on purpose, seeing how much it knocks you off your game. Apparently, all it takes is the mention of Bucky’s name to lose your concentration. You scrunch your nose, then wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. It’s a good chance to actually test how flimsy you get when Bucky is mentioned; might as well make use of it.

You stand back and face Natasha and Steve, making it two-on-one. You haven’t really practiced that before, either; today is just full of chances. Taking a deep breath, you take your stance once again, and put on your game face. Natasha and Steve share a look regarding your newfound resolve. Smirking, they stand on either side of you, then charge at you at the same time.

You don’t take their comments as lightly this time.

You completely ignore any and all remarks of Bucky. Though you do have a hint of a smile on your face whenever you hear his name, because you automatically see his face in your mind. And it’s most definitely not a bad picture. In fact, it encourages you to fight harder, quicker, and smarter. You feel the adrenaline rush through your veins as you fight them now. Steve may be big and strong, and Natasha smooth and slick, but you’re creative and resourceful. You watch Steve stumble as you land a hit on his Achilles tendon, and Natasha get the wind knocked out of her as you kick her away in her abdomen. You make your landing blow on Steve by wrapping your thighs around his head and bringing him down, Natasha Style.

As for Natasha herself, you know you have to outsmart her. She’s taught you everything you know thus far, so she knows what to expect. You’re too predictable. You’ll have to think on your feet. To begin with, you use the moves she trained you on, and she counters with ease. Steve gets up from the floor, but moves himself away to watch the action and see how much you’ve improved. You attempt to bring her down using her thigh method, but she pushes you away all too easily. You grunt in frustration, but don’t give up yet. She’s difficult to beat in hand-to-hand combat. All you need to do is bring her to the floor, in whatever way you can. Sloppy or clean execution, you don’t care (though you do a little bit); you just know that that’s the only way to end this match.

You think and think as she throws punch after punch and kick after kick. It’d be better if you could restrain her with a rope or something. Unfortunately, you don’t have any wire on you, and Natasha prefers it that way while you’re being trained. You aim for her arms and legs, and weak points in her sides, but she blocks them all. You yell, quite irritated, and wrap your arms around hers, as you’re back-to-back. You flip her over yourself with everything you’ve got, and quickly kick at her ankles right when she touches the floor. You grip your grip on her shoulders and use your weight to force her down. She lands on her back, and you restrict her movement. You’re both out of breath, but Natasha still smiles up at you.

“Good work,” she pants. You let her go and straighten yourself up, offering her a hand. “You haven’t lost your touch. I’m impressed.”

“Well it’s kinda hard to forget when I’ve been trained by someone as incredible as you,” you counter, smiling as well.

“Even with us teasing you,” Steve chimes in, hands on his hips, “you still didn’t let up. I’m proud of you.”

“I got punched in the stomach and face, Steve,” you deadpan. “I let up those times.”

“Ehhh but still,” he continues, rubbing your shoulder. “You’re remarkable.”

“I know,” you gleefully agree.

You stay with them for another hour by your request, just to see if you’re as good as you think you are. Turns out, you are, but just slightly better than what you used to be. After that session, the lot of you head down to the public showers to freshen up a bit for the rest of the day.

After getting changed, you go to the living room, and surprisingly, you see Bucky sleeping on the couch. There’s no one around, so you think about waking him up. But one look at the kitchen tells you otherwise. Giggling to yourself, you go to the fridge, and remove several letter magnets from the door. You’re lucky Bucky’s wearing a tank top today; if he wasn’t, you wouldn’t be able to do this without waking him up. You tip toe around him, and gently sit down next to him an arms away. Placing the letters on his metal arm gingerly, you arrange them so it says “borky”. You cover your mouth to keep yourself quiet. Steve comes into view, and you put a finger to your lips.

“Shh,” you mouth, nodding towards Bucky. Steve raises a brow, and leans to the side to see what you’re doing. He breaks out into a wide smile when he sees what you’ve done. You nod enthusiastically and encourage him to be quiet. You get up to join him, and watch Bucky sleep peacefully.

“I’m gonna get in on this,” Steve whispers.

“Please do,” you urge, unable to keep yourself from laughing. “But he can’t know who’s doing it. Not yet.”

“Agreed.”

You and Steve leave then, waiting for Bucky to wake himself up and see the obscure name placed on his metal arm. As time passes and Bucky still hasn’t woken up, a few more members of the team have taken it upon themselves to join in on the fun. Since there’s limited space on Bucky’s arm, they had to be clever with their words. You even slapped a giant Captain America sticker overtop of the red star etched into his shoulder. Soon enough, Bucky’s whole arm is littered with fridge magnets, and he’s still sleeping soundly. He only wakes up when he starts sliding to the side and lands face-first into the cushions.

Groaning, he sits back up and wipes a hand down his face. It’s then that he feels something clack against his arm; all fatigue from his expression vanishes, and is instead replaced with confusion. He inspects his arm, and says “what the hell” to himself over and over as he reads the words that have been stuck to his arm. He’s not particularly mad, he’s just… stunned. He didn’t think in a hundred years that someone would prank him like this. He gets up and goes to the kitchen to start putting the magnets back when you walk into the room. You have a quick laugh to yourself before taking a breath and saying hi.

“Heyyy,” you say, leaning against the counter.

“Hey,” he says, turning his arm around to reach the ones underneath.

“What happened?” you ask, secretly amused.

“Someone put these magnets all over my arm,” he says, slapping them back on the fridge.

“And a sticker too,” you add, nodding to his shoulder.

“What?”

He looks down at his arm again, and sees a giant Captain America sticker where his red star should be. He goes to peel it off, but stops himself halfway, thinking that this is a better alternative. He removes the last of the magnets and sighs.

“Where did all of these come from?” he asks aloud, scrutinizing the fridge.

“I bought them a while ago,” you say, smacking your lips together. You shrug when he gives you a weird look. “I thought it’d be fun. Besides, it’s funnier to use letter magnets than regular ones.”

“Did  _you_  put them on my arm?” he asks.

“…only one,” you reply honestly. “The ‘borky’ one.”

“Borky,” he repeats, shaking his head. “That’s your idea of humour?”

“Yes,” you grin, clearly pleased by his dismay. “At least I’m not the one that put ‘binch’ on you.” You can already guess who did that.

_I hope it was Sam._

You lean farther over the counter and ask Bucky to look at you so you can kiss him. You’re very proud of yourself when he turns away and licks his lips in embarrassment. But you can still see that pleased smile on his face. He rounds the counter so he can trap you in his arms, and you happily hum into his chest. His eyes are stuck on his metal arm, though. He still hates it with a passion, and he doesn’t want to hurt you with it. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone in general, but you especially. He just got something good back in his life again; he’s not about to let it go.

He drops his metal hand from your shoulder and hugs you with his flesh arm instead. It’s obvious to you, since his arm is freezing cold, but you don’t let him go yet. It feels too good to hug him. You set your chin on his chest and stare up at him; you clench your jaw when you see how good he looks from this angle.

_How do you look good at all angles? Christ._

You extend your arm to his face and cup his cheek, brushing your thumb under his eye. He does the same to you, smiling softly. Your heart starts beating uncomfortably in your chest, the sudden rush of adrenaline annoying you quite a bit. But that doesn’t stop you from adoring every inch of Bucky’s face. It’s your favourite thing to stare at, now that you can do it more openly, and a whole lot more in private. You go on your toes and to kiss him again, but it’s cut short by Tony as he appears in the kitchen.

“Keep it PG guys,” he says, grabbing the coffee pot. To Tony’s great surprise, both you  _and_  Bucky roll your heads to give him a resting bitch face. He puts his hand up in defence and focuses on making his coffee, though he’s a little smug that he ruined the moment. Sighing, you take Bucky’s hand and go some place where nobody will bother you.

You end up going to Bucky’s room.

This whole time Bucky has been sleeping with you in  _your_  room, but he never once suggested to sleep in his room instead. You supposed it’s because his room is a mess, with things scattered about, or he just likes being with  _you_  in  _your_  room in  _your_  bed. It was no big deal to you at the time, but now that you’re in his room, it feels a lot different. Slightly more intimate. It hasn’t changed much from when you first saw it; it’s still very simplistic, but with more clutter. He has several notebooks on his desk, clothes on the floor, and his bed hasn’t been made. But you don’t care. Every once in a while people have a messy room. It could also be a sign, as well.

Bucky hasn’t opened up to you at all regarding his trauma, let alone anyone else. He may have told Steve bits and pieces, or at least Steve could be empathetic because they share similar stories. But the horror Bucky went through after the war doesn’t even compare to what Steve has been through (it doesn’t make it any less important). You’ve been wanting to talk to him about it, or at least convince him to tell you  _something_  about his past, but you were always too afraid; afraid that he might close himself up and push you away. But you want to know. You don’t want him to carry this burden by himself.

You sit on Bucky’s bed with your back against the wall. He joins you, sitting on your left, loosely lacing your fingers together. You appreciate the affection, but you want to talk to him seriously. You want him to be comfortable, so you ask him to lay his head in your lap. He’s not opposed, and does as he’s told. You thread your fingers through his hair to get him to relax a little bit more; it calms you down as well. Now comes the complicated part: getting him to explain. As to not scare him, you start out soft, speaking in a whisper.

“Bucky?” you ask, continuing only after he grunts as a response. “You know I love you a lot, right? For a long time, I have. It brought a smile to my face to see you having a bit of fun and messing around. It made me feel like I did the right thing, bringing you out of your sleep. To see you have another chance at life. You mean the world to me, Bucky. And I want you to enjoy this new world as much as you can.”

You pause to look down at him to see how he’s reacting. So far, he’s just intently listening. You’re waiting him to say the famous “But?”, but it doesn’t come. You suppose he’s expecting to hear the worst now. To him, it just might be.

“You know so much about me, but I hardly know anything about you,” you continue gently, hoping that you’re not spooking him. You haven’t stopped flowing your fingers through his hair, and he hasn’t protested in a verbal nor physical way. You really wish this wasn’t so challenging. You know it’s hard to open up about things like mental illness, and that it takes time, but you need to hear about it. Otherwise, you won’t know what to do with yourself, or what to do when Bucky has an episode or horrendous flashback. Or if he suddenly gets out of control.

“I want to know everything about you, Bucky. As much as you can recall. The good, the bad, and the worse. I know you may not want to hear it, but it’s all a part of you. And I want to know, and help if I can. I don’t want to see you be destroyed or overcome by the things you regret. Because there’s no taking that back. All you can do is look ahead, and keep moving forward. So please,  _please_ , let me into your life.”

It seems like an eternity before he says anything. At one point you think he’s fallen asleep again, but he’s just contemplating about what to tell you, if he wants to. Of course he wants to but… it’s not as simple as saying it out-loud. He feels like he has to be under supervision or surveillance to be talking about all that he did so it can be on record. But he’s not in an interrogation room, secretly being watched by government officials, being questioned about the crimes he committed. He’s lying in bed with you, where you’re politely asking him to tell you about himself. Well, you’re indirectly asking him to tell you about his time as the Winter Soldier, and he knows it. Sighing, he believes it’s time to tell one person that isn’t Steve and doesn’t have a bias.

“I thought you were already in my life,” he begins, joking lightly. You smile slightly, but you anxiously wait for him to be serious about this. But you’re always going to be patient with him. He stretches his legs and readjusts his grip on the sheets he’s been holding on to. Even though he can’t see you, he closes his eyes as he speaks.

“I just–it–it’s hard to…” He grunts in frustration, and runs a hand through his hair himself. You stare down at him sadly as he tries to get the words out. But you’re not going to interrupt until you know he’s finished saying what he wants to say.

“It was like someone else was in my body and I was trapped in my mind, there to just… watch,” he starts, clenching his jaw. He hates recalling these things, but he  _does_  want to share this. It’ll be a small weight off his shoulders. “I didn’t… I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong at the time. I knew I was doing  _something_  that seemed… out of the ordinary. In a tiny spot in the back of my mind I knew that I was doing terrible things. But I couldn’t do anything about it. They’d shock me then say those  _damn words_ then send me out to do their dirty work. Then they’d freeze me until they needed me again. And if I was unresponsive or out of line or didn’t obey a command, they’d punish me physically. They would do it themselves, or put me in a cage with whoever they chose to ‘fight’ me. It was the same routine. Shock, words, mission, freeze, repeat. When they… when HYDRA sent me after Steve and I recognized him–“

He pauses, his words suddenly getting caught in his throat. He didn’t think talking about this would make him feel so emotional; he’s usually not. Not on this level. He clears his throat several times, and you can hear how hard he’s trying not to have a breakdown about it. For once, you’re not on the verge of tears from hearing someone else trying not to cry. Besides, it wouldn’t help Bucky much. So instead, you keep him as relaxed and comfortable as possible as he finishes his part. He takes a deep breath before going on.

“They made it worse. I was out of cryostasis for too long so they had to get rid of everything. They wiped me and started the process all over again. The pain was inexplicably horrific. I would have passed out if it wasn’t for the modified serum that Zola forced into me, and the mindset I had. If I failed, I knew I’d be killed. I’d be a threat to them anyway if I turned on them, and they knew that. So killing me would get rid of the problem. They failed in that aspect, since I’m here, but they’re still trying. They’ll always be trying…”

“They’ll never get to you,” you whisper, staring out the window. “Not while I’m here.”

“HYDRA isn’t just one person, _______,” Bucky interjects. “They have groups all over the place and–“

“I don’t give a fuck,” you counter, narrowing your eyes. “If they’ve put a price on your head, then I’ll kill anyone that comes within a five-mile radius of you. And so will everyone here. No one is going to touch you. No one.”

Bucky is taken aback by the firmness in your voice; so much that he turns his head to look up at you. He doesn’t remember the last time someone felt this strongly about his safety. After the war, nobody came to his aid, nobody rushed to his side when he was bleeding, and nobody dragged him away from the hell he was trapped in. The only sincerity he heard was that if he didn’t do a mission with more translucency the next time, he’d be put into an even worse hell than he was already in. So when he gazes upon your face and sees the genuineness it holds, he knows that he finally means something important to someone again.

And he couldn’t be happier that it’s you.

Bucky decides that he’s revealed enough for now. He feels a lot lighter after saying it to you. he doesn’t want to see you raging mad about things that have happened to him; not anymore. At a later time, perhaps. But this is enough for one day. Now, all he wants to do is be with you.

Be with you… in more than one way.

He doesn’t want it  _too_  badly, but he’s been thinking about it. A lot. He’s been a little hot and bothered at times since the start of this new relationship with you. He’s done impeccably well hiding and controlling his desire, especially since he’s started sleeping in the same bed as you. His hands are kept above your waist, he wears pants and a shirt, and stops himself from blatantly staring down your shirt while holding you so closely. He has no idea what you would think of it; he feels that it’s too early to be thinking about that. Plus, there’s no reason really that he can’t just go off and take care of himself. When you’re not around, of course. But for now, he deems it best to not say a damn thing about it.

He’s perfectly satisfied with just kissing the hell out of you.

Wrapping his arms around you, he sits you up and shakes off the gnawing thought of having his metal arm touch you. It makes you shiver almost every time when your back is exposed, and he wants to pull away sometimes. But he knows you won’t allow it. He feels the goosebumps rise on your arm with his flesh hand, and he can’t help but shudder himself. Kissing you makes him feel so alive, and he loses his breath quite frequently. You’re just as eager as he is, and he can’t help but find that… hot. Being wanted is usually required in a romantic relationship, but being able to  _feel_  how much someone wants to be with him is incredible.

Despite that, right now, he’s making his feelings a little bit  _too_  known.

He kisses you faster, and holds you tighter. He tries to keep his hands from roaming, but his fingers seem to keep skimming the skin on your lower back. You end up leaning into him more, which is completely fine by you. You’re holding him by the back of his head with your chest pressed into his. You can practically feel his heart jumping out of his ribcage. Either he’s really excited, or really anxious. Could be both. You know you’re feeling quite excited and nervous.

Because you want to see and feel more of him too.

Just like before, while you two were pining after each other without knowing it, you’re going through that process again, only in a sexual manner. And neither of you want the other to know. You both think that it’s too early; that it’ll make things awkward if it’s brought up. Unfortunately, getting to that stage will take longer than either of you planned if no one has the courage to say something.

However, actions typically will speak louder than words.

Taking a break, you pull away from him to catch your breath. You keep your forehead on his though, and smile through your panting. Bucky does as well, and opens his eyes to look at you. He gulps from seeing you so disheveled. He bites his lip and sighs to keep himself from groaning. But you make that difficult when you run your hand through his hair and stare at him like you want to devour him. He lowers his gaze to your neck, and he stares a bit too long, because you take notice and drop your head to catch his eyes again. He flickers his eyes away for one second before you grab his chin and make him look at you.

Even though your heart is thumping painfully in your chest, you boldly let him do what he wants (because you want it too).

“Go ahead,” you whisper, kissing him once. “It’s fine.”

You encourage him by pulling him closer by the back of his neck, and turning your head away so he can kiss you where he wants to. Without resisting, Bucky dives right in, albeit slowly. He wants to take his time, to see where your weakest spots are, and then speed it up once he’s found it. You’re practically sitting in his lap now, not even making an effort to move away from him.

You flinch out of habit when his lips touch you. Being sensitive makes you a tad twitchy, and you feel a tingling sensation behind your ears. You giggle softly, which makes Bucky pause to see if you’re okay. Nodding, you allow him to continue. He does so with a greater stride, causing you to jolt in surprise. It feels good, yet a little weird. You’ve never been kissed on the neck before, and you weren’t expecting much. It’s pleasant, that you know for sure. But having someone else’s lips on your neck is just very… strange. It doesn’t feel bad at all, so you have no reason to worry about such a thing when–

 _Oh_.

Your train of thought is interrupted when Bucky finds a particularly sensitive spot under your ear. You swear under your breath in surprise, but Bucky hears it loud and clear. He kisses that spot over and over until your whole body shudders.

“Bucky,” you whisper, a soft moan escaping your throat. Bucky nudges your shoulder with his forehead when he hears that. He kisses his way back to your lips, and when he looks at you this time, he wants you to know that he wants  _more_. He can’t take not be able to show you how much you mean to him. He lays you down, and hovers over you, his hair falling over his face like a curtain. You can see that he expression is confident, and more self-assured. Raising a hand, you smile and stroke his cheek, silently ensuring him that it’s okay. When he doesn’t seem to fully understand your statement, you bring his face down to whisper in his ear.

“I  _want_  you, Bucky,” you say.

As he pulls away, you see the clear shock in his eyes. For a split second, you think you said the wrong thing; that what Bucky meant was the complete opposite of what you were thinking. You’re are about to apologize and awkwardly leave, but Bucky sighs a breath of relief, and even chuckles.

“So do I,” he admits, gradually becoming embarrassed. He’s never gone that far in his life. Never. Neither have you, apparently, but that doesn’t make him any less nervous. “I, um. I don’t really–I haven’t–“

“Me neither,” you say, turning your head away as your cheeks flush. “Um.”

 _Now_  it’s awkward.

You’re good to go, and you’re sure he is as well, but it’s mildly distressing for you to bring up the idea of protection. The whole conversation would just be annoying, mostly because you carry some around with you for no reason at all. Maeve and Dani and even Nico have a habit of just stashing condoms in your purse, dressers, and pockets because they think you’ll need them. They’ve been entirely wrong, up until now. At first you thought it was the most irritating thing in the world; but now you’re grateful for their constant meddling.

Instead of dwelling on it for too much longer, you throw everything out the window.

“You know what? Fuck it. Just come here.”

You decide that going with the flow is better than overthinking things. It’s the best way to calm your nerves, and that of Bucky’s. First comes the kissing, then passionately making out, to the removal of shirts, and feeling each other. Once there’s skin-on-skin contact, neither of you hold back the groans you’re been holding in. Bucky becomes less shy, and you become increasingly breathless. Thinking about Bucky is enough to have the wind knocked out of you, being seeing him hover above you half-naked is guaranteed to make you faint. But now is not the time to act like a twelve-year-old. Now’s the time to thoroughly enjoy yourself.

Whatever insecurities Bucky has about his metal arm, you tend to them immediately. You trail your eyes along his stomach, to his chest, and to the right, where his scar tissue is. He watches your hand sharply as you touch his skin, stroking your thumb between that and the metal. He swallows thickly at the sight of it, but you quietly shush him and continue to love  _every_  part of him. You distract him with a kiss, and swirl your fingers around his arm, listening to the soft whirring and plates shifting into place.

“I love you,” you say confidently, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Remember that.” Staring down at you, he supports himself on his knees and takes your hand from his arm to kiss your palm.

“I will, doll,” he smiles, leaning down to kiss you fervently.

This time, he doesn’t doubt you.

* * *

 

_October 1 st_

Everything that happened that night was a mixture of awkward, pleasant, and remarkably fun.

You expected a certain level of uncomfortableness, since neither of you had been with anyone sexually, and the lack of knowledge and experience. Of course, there was. You were both red in the face and were stuttering over your words. But that’s also what made it amusing. Two virgin losers taking each other’s first time over the age of twenty-five. You never made a big deal about it, since you didn’t think it was. It still isn’t, but you’re glad you gave it to Bucky. And he certainly told you he was glad that you took his as well.

Being so unbelievably eager with each other, you two kept at it for… six more nights. Six nights of sweet exploration and pleasure. For the most part. You’re still taking it slow, having only been entered three times, but it’s no problem. You love kissing every inch of his incredible body anyway.

You’re so deep in Fantasy Land and Memory Lane that you don’t even hear Tony badgering you about not paying attention.

“Yoohoo,” Tony tries again, snapping his fingers in front of your face. “_______, you there?”

Snapping out of it, you straighten up and smile sheepishly at him. “Yeah, sorry. Continue.”

You’re back at the Tower in New York with Tony, Natasha, and Maeve (after much pleading and begging). Tony’s showing you some adjustments and upgrades he’s making to your suit. You’ve only been half-paying attention because you can’t get your mind off Bucky; but this is important too. You need to review and learn Tony’s technology if you want to use it correctly.

You’ve been wanting to invite Maeve down to the compound for a while now, simply because you miss her and you really want her to be a part of this life, even if it’s just a little bit. Tony was the hardest one to convince, because he basically runs  _everything_ and nothing gets him more rattled than by spontaneous visits from outsiders. You explained over and over that Maeve is the most trustworthy person you’ve ever met, and thus far, she hasn’t told anyone about anything. Not a single fact. She didn’t even joke about your lack of flirtation skills. Reluctantly, Tony agreed, on the condition that this doesn’t happen again.

You did, but _didn’t_  promise that.

She knows everything that’s transpired between you and Bucky. You didn’t even tell Wanda, nor Natasha. It wasn’t something that you wanted floating around the compound and for everyone to know about. You know certain looks and stares people have when they know something they’re not supposed to. You didn’t need them coming from the  _Avengers_.

Maeve was a giggling, happy mess when you told her  _multiple_  details. You spoke in Gaelic to her over the phone to save yourself face from the team. You trust that Tony wouldn’t translate calls that are obviously  _private_ , but he’s like a coin. He could be the devil or angel; whatever he felt like that day.

Seems like he doesn’t know a thing.

You and Maeve had a small reunion as she arrived at the airport in New York, and the rest of the time was her exploding with excitement about being able to go inside the Avengers Tower and meet Tony and Natasha. You missed her enthusiasm so much. You were glad to have her back for a day or so.

“–and this button here will open up into a flight-suit if you’re ever in that type of situation,” Tony goes on, pointing to different areas on the suit. “More room for compact weapons, even more durable than your first one. Flame resistant, of course. Stretching, scraping. It can survive it all. Now, when it comes to your mask, along with filtering out any poisonous and potentially dangerous gases, it can change the chemical composition, altering its makeup to turn that specific substance into oxygen. You can use it for yourself, or you can transfer it to someone who needs it. Either way, you’ll always be safe in that aspect.”

Having Tony as your personal costume designer is convenient as ever. He knows exactly what you need, based on your needs, and always makes small adjustments and changes if he feels that something isn’t right or needs to be repaired. Listening to him explain the modifications in your mask, and all the other technical things he’s done so far puts a huge smile on your face.

(And also because of Bucky and Maeve).

“This is fantastic, Tony,” you say, walking around your suit. He has it suspended in the air to make it easier to get around. The design isn’t much different, but has a few additions design wise. It looks a whole lot cooler than your last one. “Are you done with it yet?”

“Not quite,” he says. “I’m currently working on making new weapons for Natasha, and another project that’s private. But soon enough you’ll get it.”

“Awesome. Maeve, come look at this!”

Maeve is more than willing to take a look at one of Tony Stark’s inventions. She immediately puts her hands on it, feeling how lightweight and durable it is. Although she’s an interior designer, she makes a few comments here and there. All good, of course. Tony has a good eye when it comes to making things look fashionable as well as efficient.

“This is amazing, Mr. Stark,” she says, stretching the end of a cuff. “Think you’d wanna help me design an environmentally friendly 2100 square-foot home?”

“This whole Tower runs on clean energy,” you say before Tony can reply. “I think he has a trick or two up his sleeve.”

“The  _whole_  Tower?” she repeats, clearly amazed. “Damn. Wish I had that kind of power.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Natasha speaks up, having been silent for most of the time. “Tony takes requests like that a little too seriously sometimes.”

“Tell me when was the last time I did something like that?” Tony asks, eyebrows raised.

“I can think of a few,” you smile, giving him a sly look.

“Alright then,” Tony sighs, putting down his tools. “Fire away.”

“Well, first there was Vision,” you begin, more than willing to read off the list. “A complete and total accident. Probably Steve and–“

This time, you don’t get cut off by anyone in the room. You get cut off by someone  _outside_. There’s a huge blast that shatters the glass of the party deck windows, and sends debris flying everywhere. The lot of you are knocked off your feet, and you’re sent soaring back until you hit the mini bar. You hit your head hard, the blood immediately pouring over your eye and down your cheek. Your ears are ringing, and you feel sick to your stomach. You feel incredibly unbalanced in every way, but you force yourself to grip the counter and push yourself up.

You call for Maeve first, but there’s no answer. You can see much either with the dust clouding your vision. You gingerly touch your forehead before wiping away some of the blood to see clearly. To your left, Tony and Natasha are on the ground, trying to gather themselves. And to your right, you don’t see Maeve. There’s just chunks of the wall scattered on the floor.

“Maeve?” you call out weakly. “Maeve? Maeve! Maeve, where are you?!”

“She’s right here.”

You whip your head to the left, your heart sinking when you see Maeve unconscious in the arms of someone you don’t recognize. He’s wearing metal armour around his entire body, including his face. He doesn’t seem familiar at all. His technology looks old, but good enough to function properly. He wouldn’t be wearing boosters on his feet if he knew they weren’t going to work.

“Give her back,” you growl, shakily walking around the bar. The man flies to the floor, and intimidatingly walks closer to you, Maeve securely tucked under his arm. When he’s inches away from you, he speaks.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” he says. His voice sounds scratchy, and very deep. Almost like he’s speaking through an intercom. But you don’t recognize him at all. When he sees your dismay, he happily reminds you. “We had a drink, a nice dance, and you gave me a parting gift that I will never forget.”

He presses a button on the side of his head, which opens up the metal mask he’s wearing. When you see his scarred face, and connect the dots, you realize who this is. Your eyes widen, and you try backing up, but you hit the minibar.

“S-Synder?” you whisper.

“Ding ding ding!” he shouts, making you flinch. “You’re not as dumb as I thought you were. Yes, it’s me. And if you ever want to see your precious little friend again, you’ll come rescue her. Because isn’t that what you do?  _________.”

Your breath hitches when he says your real name to your face. With that, he closes his mask again and turns his back on you, intent on leaving. You feel powerless, since anything you try will just send you to the ER again, or even the morgue. There’s no way you can melt his armour while he’s carrying Maeve and not injure her.

“Don’t worry kid,” Tony says, getting up off the floor. “I got this.”

He steadily gets to his feet and presses a button on the underside of the bar. He waits and waits, but nothing happens.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” he calls out. “What’s the problem?”

“It appears that all systems have been shut down,” she replies. You become even more panicked when Synder steps out onto the terrace and prepares to take Maeve away.

“Tony do something!” you scream, desperate for his help. But he can’t do anything. In a last ditch attempt, you go running out with your arm stretched, reaching for Maeve’s hand. But it’s too late. Synder flies up into the air, and leaves you a parting gift as well: an upgraded flash grenade. You’re sent flying back inside, and land hardly on the floor. You yell as you push yourself up and run outside again, even if you can’t see. Synder flies up into the sky, taking Maeve with him, leaving you standing there helpless, useless, as he takes his prize.


	16. Rescue

_“Tony do something!” you scream, desperate for his help. But he can’t do anything. In a last ditch attempt, you go running out with your arm stretched, reaching for Maeve’s hand. But it’s too late. Snyders flies up into the air, and leaves you a parting gift as well: an upgraded flash grenade. You’re sent flying back inside, and land hardly on the floor. You yell as you push yourself up and run outside again, even if you can’t see. Snyders flies up into the sky, taking Maeve with him, leaving you standing there helpless, useless, as he takes his prize._

You can’t believe this. You cannot believe your eyes. You cannot believe that your best friend just got kidnapped by a complete lunatic in front of your own eyes and you couldn’t do anything to help her. Your chest feels heavy, and your legs weak. You feel like you’ve just let the entire world down. You kneel down on the cement, the amount of guilt physically weighing you down. You hold your face in your hand, and scream in fury. You’ve never wanted to kill somebody so badly in your entire life. Hot tears wet your cheeks as you rock back and forth, reeling with anger.

Your resolve couldn’t be more clear.

Lowering your hand, you glare at the horizon line and stand up, wiping your years away. You know you can’t just leave her in the possession of a potential mass murderer and innovator of weapons of mass destruction. He said you’d come rescue her.

That’s exactly what you’re going to do.

You turn around and storm back inside the Tower, glowering at Tony and Natasha.

“I’m going to bring her back,” you say hardly, leaving no room for discussion. “Whatever it takes. And no one’s going to stop me.”

“We weren’t planning on stopping you, _______,” Natasha says gently. “We’re going to help.”

“Who was that guy, anyway?” Tony asks curiously. You’re shocked that he’s asking such a thing after what just happened. Tony recognizes your confusion and continues. “He asked you if you knew who he was. And you did. Who was he, _______?”

“Marko Snyders,” you sigh, looking away. You cross your arms and stare at the floor. “He was the target of my solo mission. An enthusiastic fanboy of weapons of mass destruction and has a love for the black market. S.H.I.E.L.D. was supposed to have him in custody. He’s probably making those kinds of weapons by now.”

“Of course,” Tony scoffs, shaking his head. “Of course they give you the shadiest target to apprehend. Now look what’s happened.”

“I know,” you agree. “But I can’t dwell on that now. I need to get Maeve back. Is that new suit ready for a field test? And can you track that son of a bitch? We need to get a read on him  _right now_. I have  _no_  clue where he’s going or have any  _idea_  about where he’d take her for that matter. So we need to–”

“_______,” Natasha interrupts, walking towards you slowly. “Firstly you need to get your head fixed. Then we can–“

“I don’t give a  _fuck_  about myself right now,” you snap. Natasha doesn’t flinch. “What matters right now is Maeve. And if you’re not willing to go after her this very moment, then I’ll do it myself.”

“And then what?” Tony asks harshly. You stop in your tracks as you begin to walk away. “You’re gonna go out on a limb and just start searching this entire city? The next? You need to calm down and  _think_ , _______. Like you said, you have no idea where she is or where he could be taking her.”

“Exactly! That’s why–“

“I wasn’t finished,” Tony interjects again. “I said  _you_  have no idea where she is. But  _I_  do.”

Your heart stops and for a second you want to start crying again. But you stop yourself from doing so. You give Tony an extremely sad expression, which prompts him to go on.

“Whatever he used to shut down the systems,” he says, walking towards the minibar, “–didn’t last for very long. It’s a mystery in itself how something could override  _my_  technology, but we’re going to look past that. Instead, we can track him.”

Tony presses the exact same button he did when everything was shut down, and this time, multiple projections of blue lines fill the room. You move away so you can see it in its entirety, and wonder how the hell this is supposed to help you all find Maeve. Tony reaches behind the counter for a remote, and presses another button. Red beams outline where Snyders was standing, and after pressing another button, reveals exactly what he was wearing.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., start the material makeup analysis.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. scans the hologram of Snyders, and begins downloading and examining the data she’s been given. You stare at the image of Snyders angrily, but also a little confused. You tilt your head in Tony’s direction.

“Was this what was  _supposed_  to happen when you pushed that button the first time?” you ask coldly. Tony investigates the data as he answers.

“Yes and no,” he replies smoothly, skimming through what he’s been given.

“And what the  _hell_  is that supposed to mean?” You drop your arms and start waltzing your way over to him, intent on giving him a good punch if need be.

“What I mean is that this whole process,” he starts, referring to the analysis, “is what that button is meant to do. It captures an infrared image of the entire room, and breaks down what specific parts it’s made of. In this case, it’ll be Snyders’ armour. The thing you’re probably confused about is the ‘no’ part.” You nod once. “When the power is functioning, the device operates at its full capacity, and is supposed to making a loud clicking noise once it takes the image, but I didn’t hear it. And if it ever unexpectedly shuts down, it only runs on about thirteen percent. It’s better than nothing.”

You crack your knuckles in irritation. You’re glad that there’s at least one thing in the Tower that can work without sufficient power, but you’re still fuming about how little any of you did. It’s just like Steve says: you can’t save everyone. But that’s not going to dampen your determination. You’re not going to let Maeve be killed. Not on your watch.

Natasha silently stitches up your forehead as Tony calculates the exact location of Snyders’ position. The metal he was wearing is awfully generic, making it difficult for Tony to pinpoint him since it’s so common. But thankfully, there was one small detail about his armour that allows Tony to have a general location within a three-mile radius.

“I got it,” he announces. You jump off the counter of the bar and go over to Tony at his work station. He glances at you before focusing on the data again. “How’s the head?”

“’S fine,” you mumble, tracing your eyes over his work. “Where is he?”

“Not too far,” Tony says, projecting the figures in the air. “About an hour’s flight away, in St. Mary’s.” He circles to a patch of rural area in Pennsylvania. “Being the man you claim him to be, he’d need quite a lot of space for his projects. Whether this is a headquarter checkpoint or just one of his manufacturing garages, I’ve deciphered that he’ll be in this building here.” He zooms in on the side of the warehouse. “It’s labeled as a self-storage unit, and it’s off the main road. It gives him the privacy he needs. The pathetic metal he wore is quite common, but it had a small coating of rhenium on the surface. I was able to trace him using that.”

You stare at the blinking red dot on the map, thinking about Maeve. You try to push away the thoughts of her being tortured in any way, but the intrusive thoughts keep forcing their way in. You rub your temple and grit your teeth.

“Save the address,” you growl. “Let’s get going.”

You don’t wait for either of them to answer before you start to make your way to the jet platform outside. You don’t know how much time Maeve has, and you don’t want to think about it. Tony and Natasha join you on the quinjet soon after, with Natasha being the designated driver. You’re completely silent as they come into view, your only thoughts being that of getting Maeve back safely. Natasha starts it up, then flies quickly in the direction of the compound.

“Wait, what are you doing?” you ask, getting up. You know this path. “Where are you going, Natasha?”

“To the compound,” she says. “And before you object, just know that we’ll need everyone for this. Out of necessity, and because they would come anyway. We’ll get there in time, _______. Trust me.”

“You better be right,” you scoff, shaking your head as you take your seat again. Natasha looks at you over your shoulder before pushing the quinjet to it’s maximum speed.

“Hang on,” she warns. It comes too late as you go flying to the side. You grip the straps of the seat belts at the bottom of the seats to keep yourself from sliding. Tony flawlessly contacts everyone at the compound about the situation, telling them to suit up and be ready for when they arrive. Once you find your seat again, you fasten yourself in and pray that everything will be okay.

* * *

With the insane speed that Natasha was flying at, you arrive back at the compound in two hours flat. You feel faint after arriving, but you shake it off and speed-walk inside the compound and upstairs to change into your suit. As you’re in the middle of pushing your arms through, there’s a knock at the door. You don’t bother to answer, since whoever it is, they’re not going to change your mind.

“_______?” It’s Bucky. You zip up the front of your suit securely, then begin to tie your hair up. He opens the door and walks inside.

“_______?” he calls again.

“I’m not listening to any complaints about me going,” you say, grabbing a ponytail from your dresser. “She’s my friend, and I’m going to get her back. No one can tell me otherwise.”

“I know,” he says gently. “We’re all going. I’m going.”

“No,” you say, snapping your head around to look at him. “You can’t come, Bucky. As much as I want you to, it’s too much of a risk. You can’t be seen.”

“Stark said she’s being kept in the middle of nowhere,” he counters, trying to reason with you. He lowers his voice when he sees the cut in your forehead. “No one is going to see me.”

“His men will,” you remark, grabbing your mask. “And I’m pretty sure they’d know damn well what the Winter Soldier looks like.”

“You think I’m going to let you go out there by yourself?”

“But I  _won’t_  be alone, Bucky,” you argue. “I’ll have Natasha and Wanda and Steve and Tony and Sam and Vision. There’s no reason why you need to put any unnecessary danger upon yourself.”

“And the rest of them aren’t?” he scoffs. “I’d be risking the same things they’d be risking. More on me I know, but I don’t want to be sitting here for hours on end worried the hell out of my mind, wondering if you’re alive or not.”

You drop your hands from your face after putting on your mask and sigh. You don’t want to have an argument before doing this mission. It would be a major distraction for yourself. You approach Bucky, and cup his face in your hands.

“I’m going,” you say softly. You put a finger to his lips to keep him from interrupting. “And you’re coming too, since you’d probably go anyway. But you have to promise me that you’ll stay in the jet. Otherwise I’ll have to strap you down here myself.”

Bucky knows he’s not going to get a better deal. He nods, agreeing with your terms, and kisses your forehead.

“I’ll stay put,” he confirms.

“Good,” you say. “Let’s get going.”

You grab your gun and slide it into your holster before leaving your room and heading down to the hangar to meet with everyone else. You assume they’ve all been relayed the message by Tony, since he said it himself. You don’t need to speak with any of them; you know they have your back.

As you walk down the stairs to the hangar and see everyone, you notice they’ve all geared up: Steve in his Captain America uniform carrying his shield, Sam has his wings, Tony in his Iron Man suit. You put on a brave face (though it can’t be seen), and take deep breaths as you approach them. Not much needs to be said; they’ve all made their decision to help you, because that’s what a family does.

_God that really sounded like Steve._

You all board the jet in silence, except for Tony as he will be flying alongside you. You hear footsteps from behind you, so you look over your shoulder and see Bucky jogging to keep up. He’s dressed in what seems like a modified Winter Soldier outfit: it’s still all black attire, but with a vest instead of the intense strapping from his old one. He’s wearing his glove as well, but that doesn’t do much to cover the entirety of his arm. You wait for him, and silence everyone’s concerns with a glare.

“He’s staying on board,” you say simply. “He’s not leaving once we get there. End of story. Vision, you watch him and make sure he doesn’t leave. I don’t want him seen by  _anyone_. Got it?”

“Understood,” Vision says, nodding in compliance. He motions for Bucky to have a seat next to him, and he does. You take a seat by yourself, not wanting to interact for a while, and to cool down a bit. This is the most stressful experience you’ve ever been in in your entire life. There’s only a handful outcomes that you can think of when all of this is over:

  1. 1\. Maeve is saved, and Snyders and his men are killed and/or captured
  2. 2\. Maeve is saved, but Snyders and his men get away
  3. 3\. Maeve is killed, but Snyders and his men get away
  4. 4\. Maeve is killed, along with Snyders and his men
  5. 5\. Maeve is saved, and Snyders and his men are killed and/or captured, and someone on the team is killed
  6. 6\. Maeve is saved, but Snyders and his men get away, and someone on the team is killed
  7. 7\. Maeve is killed, but Snyders and his men get away and someone on the team is killed
  8. 8\. Maeve is killed, along with Snyders and his men and someone on the team



Your head hurts from thinking about all of these scenarios. You support your face in your hands and lean your elbows on your knees. You do some breathing techniques to calm yourself down, and tap your foot on the floor. Steve recognizes that you want some alone time, but him being him, he knows that even though you may not realize it, you need someone to talk with you.

He gets out of his seat and settles down next to you. You don’t say anything to him, and he was expecting that. You’re not one to usually start a conversation, which Steve also knows, so he waits a minute or two before opening his mouth.

“How’re you holding up?” he asks quietly, glancing at you.

You close your eyes and breathe deeply before giving him an answer. “About as good as you can expect,” you reply, staring down at the floor. You dig your fingernails hardly into each other, and begin bouncing your knee. Your heart is racing, and you can’t focus. You’re afraid that you’re going to compromise this mission because of your mental state, and that one member, if not everyone, will tell you to stay behind. Steve’s not going to tell you that.

But that doesn’t mean he’s not going to be realistic and cautious about this.

“I can’t tell you that everything is going to go smoothly,” he starts, treading carefully. “But if it’s any consolation, if someone can pull this off, it’s you. You have the skill, the tenacity, and most importantly, the integrity. Complications are going to arise, and there’s no way to avoid that. But this is  _your_  mission, _______. You’re calling the shots. It’s going to be rough, but we’re here with you. We’ll get her back.”

Your eyes sting with tears at Steve’s small pep talk. The one hope everyone always has is that everything is going to be okay. But that’s not the case in all scenarios. Steve is Steve, and you’re grateful for his encouraging words. You lift your head, your eyes glassy, and nod in thanks, since he won’t be able to see your smile. He smiles back anyhow, and rubs your shoulder.

“All we need to do is win,” he says.

“Easier said than done,” comes your quiet reply. “But it’s the only option. And I’m not about to let Maeve down. Or any of you down, for that matter.”

“You won’t,” he reassures you. “We’ve seen you in the field. Just get in your zone, and you’ll be unstoppable. Just do what you gotta do.”

“And the same to you guys,” you agree.

Steve continues to speak with you for most of the three-hour flight to Pennsylvania. He wants to settle your nerves, and give you some confidence. He can see in your eyes the terror you’re experiencing, and there’s nothing more nerve-wracking than a person who doesn’t feel like themselves. The pressure and anxiety of rescuing someone close to you is like trying to carry around a stone of slab that weighs a ton. Steve knows exactly how that feels.

Along with you, he’s also worried about Bucky and how he’s going to deal with this entire situation. He originally wasn’t supposed to come, but given the fact that he wouldn’t let you go without him, Steve isn’t surprised that he was allowed to come along on one condition: that he  _stays_  in the quinjet. Taking that into consideration… Steve isn’t confident that Bucky is going to stand by that order. He can’t help but want to jump in and help. Especially when your safety is in jeopardy. Whatever happens, Steve hopes that you both come out of this alive.

* * *

As you’re nearing the designated location, you stand up and stare out the windshield. All you can see is grass upon grass upon grass, with a single warehouse planted in the middle of it. You wipe your clammy palms on your legs before pulling your gloves out of your pocket. You slide them on as Natasha lands the jet a few hundred meters away from the site. The air is tense, silent, and serious. Natasha opens the door, and you all step out onto the grass. You speak with Bucky before stepping off last.

“For the love of god, please stay here,” you tell him, clutching his hand. “Forget about being killed. HYDRA could get their hands on you again and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if that happened. So please,  _please_  promise me you’ll stay in the quinjet.”

Bucky hears the pleading in your voice, but he sees it the most in your eyes. He’s never heard you sound so afraid for him before. He squeezes your hand, and nods with hesitation. He still doesn’t know if he’ll be able to keep that promise.

“I promise,” he whispers, his eyes downcast.

“Okay,” you say. You close your eyes as he places a long, gentle kiss to your forehead. You hug him tightly after, glad that he’s going to listen to you.

“I’ll see you after,” you say, pulling away. You turn to Vision now. “Watch him. Please. Don’t let him slip through your fingers.”

“No need to worry, _______,” Vision says. “He won’t be joining you until you return.”

“Thank you, Vision. We’ll see  _you_  after, as well.”

And with that, you turn your back on them and walk out of the quinjet to join the others. You stare out in the field, the warehouse being a spec in the distance. You stand at the head of the group, and lead them towards the goal. Your head and heart race together, so much that it makes you feel dizzy again. But you absolutely cannot break focus. You’re here for Maeve, and you’re going to save her.

The warehouse gets bigger and bigger the closer you get, and you wonder just how massive this place is. You clench your fists in frustration and grit your teeth.

_Shut up. Calm the fuck down. Thinking too much is going to screw everything up. You gotta stop doing this or you’re going to fuck everyone over._

You walk faster and take deeper breaths as your anger intensifies. Fighting gives you energy like you’ve never experienced, and you hope to god that it’ll give you the willpower you need to get through this day.

When you come within 50 metres of the place, a voice speaks over an intercom system.

“Take out your earpiece, leave your gun, and come in alone.”

You’d recognize that voice anywhere now. The team stops in place, and you narrow your eyes at the building. If that’s the way it has to be, then you have to do it. You have to comply if you want Maeve to come out of this alive.

“And if I don’t?” you question, curious to see what he’ll say.

“It’s very simple,” he says. “Your friend dies in the most horrible way possible, and then we kill all of you. So make your decision wisely.”

Sighing, you bring your hand to your right ear, and pull out the earpiece, dropping it on the ground. You do the same with your gun, and began walking towards the entrance.

“_______, wait!” Steve calls out, taking a step forward.

“I’m gonna do as he says, Steve,” you tell him, frowning over your shoulder. “If this is the way to save Maeve, then I’m going to do it.” You continue your way forward, but Steve reaches out and grabs your forearm.

“_______,” he pleads.

You tilt your head to the side, knowing he’s going to try and let him come with you, but you shake your head.

“No, Steve,” you say. You take your arm back and turn around to face him. “I’m going in alone. And if you can’t–“

“I’m not kidding around, _______,” Steve argues, his voice firm. “I’m not–“

“Didn’t you say that  _I’m_  calling the shots here?!” you yell. He flinches in surprise. He takes a step back and sighs. You huff, and begin backing away. “I am going in  _alone_. And if I’m not out of there within thirty minutes, follow me. But look for Maeve  _first_. She is the top priority, not me. Do whatever you can to get her out of there. That’s an order.”

Steve reluctantly lets you go, but he nods his head in affirmation. You turn your back on them once again, and begin your journey inside. It’s what you’d expect from a typical warehouse: shiny, cement floors, rows upon rows of orange shelving, fluorescent lighting, forklifts. But there’s not a soul in sight. The lights are dimmed, and you’re prepared to light some bastards up. You proceed with caution, walking on your toes and keeping your ears open to even the smallest of sounds. You saunter down an isle, wondering where the hell Snyders is. You know he wouldn’t just let you stroll in here unarmed without a plan in mind. But just because you’re unarmed, doesn’t mean you’re  _not_.

You put your arm up, leveling it with your face. It’s no form of protection, but you can produce flames faster than you did before. You haven’t reached full-body production, but you’re still a work in progress. As you reach the end of the isle, you tentatively look left and right for any sign of human life, but there’s no one. You don’t hear, nor see, anyone.

_They all must be in a di–_

You hear the sounds of guns being locked and loaded simultaneously. You freeze in place, and look up. About a dozen men come out of their hiding places on the shelves, and point their weapons at you. You lower your arm, but not your guard. Your movements are slow, but careful as you turn around, looking for Snyders.

“Braaavaaa, braaavaaa.”

You whip your head around when you hear his voice and the sound of him clapping. He appears around the corner of the isle, stepping into view.

“I didn’t think you’d do it,” he comments, giving you a once-over. You notice he’s dressed like a normal civilian instead of the armour he was wearing when he took Maeve. And it seems as though he’s found himself a pretty clever makeup artist, since the burns on his face have all but disappeared. That scar on his neck is still painfully visible, though.

“Just one simple proposal and you drop everything to come in here? That’s fantastic!”

He begins a monologue, but you’re too weirded out by his strange behaviour. The unnerving smile, speaking with his hands, and the swagger he’s carrying… it feels like a completely different Marko Snyders than the one you met at the club. But a change in personality isn’t going to divert you from your objective.

“Where is she?” you demand.

He immediately stops talking when you ask for Maeve. His smile slowly falls from his face, and he lowers his arms, tucking his hands in his pockets. He takes a step forward, and you straighten up. You’re not afraid of him. You nearly killed him once; you’re not going to let that opportunity slide again.

“Come,” he says, wrapping an arm around you. “Let’s take a walk.”

Now you’re even more suspicious. You clench and unclench your fists to keep yourself under control as he leads you away from one part of the warehouse to another. He has a look of glory on his face, like he’s just had an epiphany. And you don’t like it at all. You’d rather kick his ass early, find Maeve, and be done with it. This whole ensemble seems fishy at best.

As you walk along with him, you get looks from his men whenever you pass them. The warehouse still looks like one, but the contents in this certain area is completely different. All the shelving is gone, and instead there’s projects placed everywhere on the floor. They all have their own work station, with a handful of men tending to each one. You feel like you’re being given a tour of the entire place, but you know that’s not what’s in Marko’s plan.

He leads you to an elevator, and presses a button for the very last floor, deep underground. You can tell by the old design of the elevator door that the next room you see is  _not_  going to be pretty. The silence between you and Marko is deafening, but you suppose that minimal conversation is the best course of action.

When you reach the sub basement of the warehouse, Marko steps out first, and you follow closely behind. The air is colder, mustier, and creepier. Pipes run along the high ends of the walls, and you can see water streaming through the cracks of the brick. It’s dark, dirty, and overall eerie. It makes the perfect place to hide a secret facility.

You can’t tell which way you’re going. Everything looks so similar, yet different at the same time. You don’t even know what half of the old machines do; they look like they were made in the 40s. And they probably were. You swallow the lump in your throat as you get a chill. This place doesn’t make you feel safe at all.

After turning left and right and being lead up and down staircases and corridors, Marko finally stops in front of a big, bulky door. He takes out an ID badge from his jacket, and swipes it in a keypad attached to the wall. He enters a code, his thumbprint, and a retina scan. The power light changes from red to green, and the door opens, welcoming Marko inside. He steps through, and you hesitate before doing the same.

The design is completely different.

It’s perfectly white all around, with glass doors and windows, with the brightest lighting. The people down here dress like they’re doctors, wearing white lab coats over their slacks and dress shirts. You can’t tell what each room is for. In some there’s just people sitting at a desk, staring at a computer and writing things down. But in others, you can only guess they’re doing experiments, given the small, handheld technology they’re using.

“This is where all the magic happens.”

The sound of Marko’s voice makes you jump, and he takes notice of that as he peers at you over his shoulder.

“Didn’t mean t’ scare ya,” he apologizes, giving you that unsettling smile again. “That’s for later.” That doesn’t calm you down any, but he continues on, strolling through his lab. “I’ve always been a fan of perfection and leaving little room for error and failure. I believe it’s the only acceptable form of success. Trial and error? If at first you don’t succeed, try again? Tsk tsk. Not uh. Not in my laboratory. See, I started out big. I was young and naïve, always aiming to make the biggest, most fantastical thing out there. The bigger the better, right? But in these past months, I realized how wrong I was. The perfection is in the  _detail_ , not how gigantically I can produce something. No, no, no. It has to be something no one will expect. That no one will see coming.”

After gathering your thoughts and swallowing your nervousness, you open your mouth to see if he’ll answer your question.

“And what’s that? What did you move on to?”

He stops in his tracks again, and hangs his head. Just by looking at his back gives you the vibe that he could snap, and jump you right then and there. You shift on your feet, balancing yourself if he tries anything. He turns around completely, and gives you a smug smile.

“Now why would I tell you that?” he asks curiously, tilting his head. “It would just spoil the surprise.”

His tone is what freaks you out this time. Not much can be read by a human face when three-quarters of it is shielded, but the eyes are said to be the window to the soul. And if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that Marko knows  _exactly_  the amount of terror and fear he’s making on you, just by glancing at your eyes.

“Let’s continue the tour, shall we?”

Standing up straight, he turns on his heel and begins walking down the hallway, then takes a left. You trail behind him, that specific encounter giving you a reason to be even more cautious of him. He gestures to certain areas, and announces their designated title: Science Research Unit, Records Management, a Culture Kit room, and even generic things such as a laundry room, the lavatories, and a break room. You have no idea why he would tell you this, but you guess that it’ll all be for nothing in the end.

But only if you let him have his way.

He comes to a door that’s guarded by two men, and just by that you can tell it’s an important room. He gets out his ID badge again, enters a code, does his thumbprint and retinal scan, then enters a longer code before the door clicks open. He beckons you inside when he sees you’re not following suit. You do as you’re told, and step inside. It’s impeccably clean and white like the rest of the place. It has one table and a single chair in the middle of the room, with a small control panel off to the side and bolted to the wall. Most of the room is cut in half by a floor-to-ceiling glass window, like an observation room. You hesitantly approach the glass, and squint to see if there’s anything there besides the blackness. Marko goes to the control panel, takes out a key, and unlocks it before flipping three switches. On the other side of the glass, the lights flicker on in unison, and your eyes widen in shock at what you see.

“Maeve? Maeve!”

You slam your hands on the glass, and call her name over and over, but she can’t hear you. She’s strapped down to a standing metal table, with clasps around her wrists and ankles together. Her shirt has been removed, and you can see bruising around her hips and arms. Her end of the room is just like yours: white floors, white walls, and a door to her right. She’s completely alone in there. She’s unconscious as well, and upon closer inspection, seems to be shining. Her hair looks damp, and she shivers. Both ends are soundproof, but that doesn’t mean you can’t  _see_  one another. Marko pushes a button, and two squares of the wall open up, revealing two powerful hoses. Maeve is then drenched in a mountain of freezing cold water; she struggles against her restraints, and spits out any water that forces its way in her mouth. You watch on in horror, once again helpless that you can’t do anything to help her.

“Stop it,” you whisper, making a fist against the glass.

“I’m sorry,” Marko says annoyingly. “I didn’t quite hear that. What did you–“

“I said stop it!” you scream, glowering at him in a rage. He nods his head once, then retracts the hoses to allow Maeve to calm down. You pound your fist on the glass, but it’s too thick to be heard on the other side.

“Maeve!  _Maeve_!”

Finally, Maeve raises her head, and when she sees you, her heart sinks. You’re glad that she’s looking at you, but her expression makes your own falter. She doesn’t look happy to see you. in fact, she wishes you were anywhere but here.

“Go,” she says, even though she knows you can’t hear her. “Go, _______! Go!” Tears sting her eyes when you don’t leave. She hangs her head, her body shaking as she weeps. She’s telling you to go not because she hates you for what’s been done to her, but because she doesn’t want the same things to happen to you. Your anger reaches a boiling point when you see Maeve so distraught.

“Let her go,” you demand, glaring at Marko again.

“Thaaat I can’t do,” he replies.

“I said: Let. Her. Go!”

You lunge at Marko, intending to give him another pretty scar to the other side of his face, but he effortlessly moves to the side. His guards come in then, and take hold of you by both your arms. You instantly light up your arms, and they both let go, but one of them quickly grabs hold of your throat and yanks you backwards. You feel a sting in the side of your neck, and the last thing you see before becoming unconscious is Marko’s haughty expression.

* * *

When it’s been more than thirty minutes, Steve starts to get restless. He can’t stop jittering, and his hands are clammy under his gloves. He has the utmost confidence in you, but when he starts doubting the situation, he can’t just stand by and wait for something terrible to happen.

“She should have been out by now,” he says more to himself than the team. He looks at the building left and right, shaking his head. “We can’t wait any longer. We need to go in.”

“Shouldn’t we wait just a little bit more?” Sam suggests, even though he’s worried as well.

“She said if she’s not out in thirty minutes to go in,” Wanda reminds him. “I say we go in.”

“Alright people here’s the plan,” Tony speaks up, pulling his mask back. “Cap and Wilson will go after _______. Nat and Wanda will find her friend. I’ll do an aerial observation and scan the warehouse to be able to find both of them. I’ll lead you all to them once I find them. And if you know what’s good for you, none of you will tell Barnes. We don’t need any more deaths than we need.”

Everyone nods their head in agreement. They accept their given task, and will do whatever they can to complete it without any fatalities on their end. Staring down the building in determination, the team braces themselves for what’s to come, and commence their operation.

* * *

You feel extremely weak when you wake up. Your neck is stiff, and your eyes sting. You hiss when you move, as well. You’re absolutely freezing. As your vision clears, you realize you’ve been strapped down to a standing table, just like Maeve. You’ve been stripped of your suit, your mask included. You’re entirely vulnerable. The only thing you can be thankful for is that you’re alive.

And wearing boyshorts.

The room you’re in is bigger than Maeve’s, leaving lots more space for Marko to do whatever he wants with you. You’re getting irritated from all the white; it’s bugging with your eyes, and you try to pull your wrist free. But the clasps won’t budge. It’s made of stainless steel, and the only way you’re going to get out of it is if you melt it. But even  _you’re_  not sure you can do that. You still try to free yourself, pulling with all your might and shaking yourself side to side. You yell in frustration, but you stop struggling when you hear someone clapping.

“I can’t believe it,” comes Marko’s surprised voice. You look up, and see him standing behind a wall of glass. You’re trapped in the room, just like Maeve is, and you can bet that Marko has some even worse things lined up for you. He dons a lab coat now, and steps in front of the glass with his hands behind his back. He flips on a switch to turn up the volume on the intercom system. “You’re quite easy to capture, you know that? You’re incredibly impulsive, which makes you clumsy and distracted by all means. I’m perplexed as to why you didn’t try harder to save your friend. After all, she is pretty important to you… or is she?”

“Of course she is!” you bellow, grinding your teeth.

“Are you sure?” he counters. “Because, from the way  _I_  see it, she’s not all that significant. Otherwise you would have tried to burn the room down to get to her. But that’s not what happened, is it? You saw her, you panicked that you couldn’t save her, and let yourself be imprisoned. It’s pathetic, really. You’re definitely not the same woman I met all those months ago. Maybe I should just let her out of her misery now and save the best devices for you instead.”

“Don’t you  _fucking_  touch her!” you scream, pulling against your restraints again. You bring flames to your arms and try to melt them off, but Marko has other ideas.

“Ah ah ah,” he scolds, unlocking another control panel in front of him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“And why’s t–“

You yell in surprise and pain as you feel an icy cold embrace around your wrists. You pant like you’ve just been punched in the stomach. Turning your head to glance at your wrist, your eyes widen in shock as you see a large chunk of ice forming on your wrist and up your forearm. It’s the same on the other side. You try thawing it out, but it’s too cold. It has to be at least -50. It makes your entire body jolt. You glare at Marko as he gives you the most satisfied of smiles.

“Instant frostbite,” he explains, pressing another button. It freezes your ankles this time, and you swear you’ve never felt a pain like this before. It’s so sharp and severe, you’re not sure you can counter it. Your entire body is littered in goosebumps, and you can’t stop trembling. Your teeth chatter, and you can’t bring yourself to speak.

“Quite useful, don’t you think?” he goes on, switching them both off. You’re provided a small relief, but the pain sticks with you. “Against a fire-type like you, anything cold and wet is your weakness. And those things are pretty easy to come by. I just take the local water supply, and convert it into ice. Simple as that. But getting it  _this_  cold takes some patience. I could freeze you to death if I wanted. But where’s the fun in that?”

Turning off communications, he turns to speak to one of his consultants, allowing him full access to the control panel. Marko himself strolls over to the right, and your heartbeat quickens when he enters the room with you. He keeps the door open as someone else wearing a hospital mask strolls in, pushing a rolling table with a sheet overtop. You can guess what’s underneath.

“Thank you, Connell,” Marko says to the man. Connell stops when the table is directly in front of you, then nods to Marko, and leaves, closing the door tightly behind him. Marko walks to the middle of the table, grasps the ends of the sheet, and glances up at you before pulling it away. Underneath is all but a single straight back knife. He picks it up, approaches you, and gingerly taps the tip of the knife against your stomach. It’s cold and sharp, and makes you shift uncomfortably. You don’t want that thing anywhere near you.

“It’s not so fancy, I know,” he says, twirling it around in his hand. “But that doesn’t matter. This type of knife is an all-purpose blade. Because the back is not sharp, it allows you to use your hand or fingers to apply additional pressure to increase the cutting force. Overall, it’s good for slicing and chopping. A little on the heavier side, but I have enough strength to complete my tasks.”

He presses it against your stomach again, but with more pressure. You look down in fear as your skin concaves around the knife, before finally piercing you. You groan in the back of your throat, and look away as he pulls the knife down. A small trickle of blood pours from your wound, and he retracts his hand.

“Ahhh,” he sighs, tapping the knife against you. “This is going to be so much fun. And look at that!” He kneels down somewhat to gaze at your leg. “What a wonderful scar I’ve left behind. That bullet wasn’t very nice to you, was it? Packs a punch from a close range.” He becomes suddenly fascinated, and can’t help but give you a few more scratches along your abdomen and legs. You restrict your voice, not wanting him to hear how much pain you’re in. Most of it is coming from the leftover ice, but having multiple stinging sensations in your stomach and legs isn’t any more pleasant.

“I have much planned for you,” he says, watching your blood slide down his knife. “The next installment of fun should be here any moment now. Until then–“

He gives you a good scrape along the length of your collarbone, quick and clean. You hiss in surprise, and find the strength to keep your voice down. He gives you a few more nicks on your arms before amping it up a bit. He digs deeper into your side, deep enough to produce a steady flow of blood, but not enough to kill you. He does the same to your hip and thigh, and is about you go for your stomach when the door opens again. Connell rolls in a smaller table this time, still with a single sheet covering the top. Marko smiles happily, and removes the sheet once more to reveal a small, handheld device. From your angle, it looks like a pen. But it’s thicker, and has a translucent point.

“Thank you again, Connell,” Marko says as Connell makes his way out again. Marko gingerly places the knife down on the table, and picks up the new device instead. He holds it out in front of you so you can see it. “Know what it is?” Even though it’s pointless to shake your head no, you do it anyway. “You look like a visual learner. I’ll give you a demonstration.”

He clicks the top, just like a pen, and the translucent end lights up in a metallic blue haze. You can’t see it, but there’s tiny electric currents flowing through it, indicating its power. Your chest palpitates just at the sight of it. You twist your body to the side when he draws it nearer to your abdomen, adjacent to a cut. As the tip of the device touches you, you can’t stop yourself from yelling in pain. Marko smiles like the sadist he is, and gives you several more pokes in different areas of your body, your screams music to his ears.

“Similar to shock therapy,” he explains, examining it with zeal. “But more powerful. Controlled. All of its energy condensed into this tiny little contraption. Deception is key. It could be labeled as a joke, a harmless prank. Different levels for different shock value. You could either zap someone like one of those cheap buzzer toys, or give a grown man a heart attack! It’s incredible! And since I want to keep you alive, I’ll be using the lowest settings for my convenience.”

You hardly heard anything he said. The searing pain is making it difficult for you to focus on one thing. Your thoughts are all over the place, and your body jerks involuntarily. You wonder if this is how Bucky felt when HYDRA induced shocks in him to activate the Winter Soldier. If it is… you can’t imagine how how got though it all. This is unbearable.

“Why… are you doing this?” you manage to ask, your voice trembling. You weakly raise your head to look at him for when he answers you. “Is this all because… I burnt your face off?”

Marko stops fanboying over his little toy to laugh out loud. He laughs so hard that he keels over and holds his stomach.

“Ohohooo sweetheart,” he coos. “Don’t be so self-centred. You see, I used to work at S.H.I.E.L.D. in the Weapons Development Department. Not exactly Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S., but I had my fair share of intelligence. As you can guess, I was a double-agent at the time. Making weapons for this agency, while also stealing from them and selling to members of the black market. They never suspected a thing. They’re like that, as you can see. Good ole Phil Coulson asked me to do a mock mission for a youngster. A newbie. Nothing too big. Infiltration, detention, end of that. The weapons were real, I made sure of it. I tend to get into my role, so shooting you in the leg was intentional, yet not at the same time.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” you question, raising your voice. You can’t believe what you’re hearing. He could be lying about all of this. S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn’t play around like that… would they?

“It was all a façade, sweetheart,” he says. “Do I have to spell it out for you? Everyone was in on the project but you. Even agent Knox knew about it. We did all of that just to see what you were capable of. And it was a lot.” He touches his face then, grabs the corner of his forehead, and begins to peel off a facial prosthetic to reveal the scar tissue hidden underneath. “Coulson assured me that despite you not having a gun, you wouldn’t use your power to retaliate. That was the first strike. The second strike was him not reimbursing me for the favour I did for him. Broken promises and a disfigured face? Dick move there. And the third strike was being let go because my precision was slacking and I made more mistakes. Sooo, yeah. Don’t think this is all because of you, princess.”

“If it’s not all about me,” you challenge, “then why did you come after me and my friend?”

“For obvious reasons,” he says, gesturing to his face. “You think I’d let someone get away with ruining one of my best assets? I don’t think so.”

“How did you find me? How did you know where I’d be?” You try to distract him by explaining himself to gain time for yourself. Thawing through the ice is going to take a lot of heat, and it’s still too dangerous for you to start at a really high Kelvin rate. You need to built yourself up before letting it all out.

“I’m more than just a weapons developer,” he says, fiddling with the jolt inducer. You’re very much still wary of it; you don’t want to agitate him into using it again. “I wouldn’t have been working at S.H.I.E.L.D. if I wasn’t. I watched you, tracked you, determined where you’d be. You showed me your face. Do you know the kind of face-recognition hardware I own? Honestly. Finding you was easier than a needle in a haystack. All you gotta do is bring a magnet.”

“Why attack me when you did? Why wait this long to capture me?”

You can slowly feel the heat swirling around inside you, especially in your arms. The ice still has an unrelenting hold on you, but you power through the pain in order to break through it. Marko loves to talk about himself and his accomplishments. Hopefully another speech will buy you the time you need to free yourself.

“Opportunity, coincidence, I was getting tired of waiting,” he jeers, getting a little restless from all the talking. He needs to hear your screams again. “It doesn’t matter. I found you, I got you, and as a bonus, I got your friend as well. Two birds with one stone. Enough of all that. Now, I have to get back to work.”

He jolts you again before you can produce any kind of progress with your flames. You lose your concentration, along with the buildup of your combustion. You choke from being stunned in multiple places in such a quick succession. Clenching your fists, you glower at him fiercely, and when he’s close enough, you spit in his face. His initial shock makes you smirk, but the fury in his eyes makes your stomach churn. He calmly wipes away your saliva from his cheek before plunging the device into your abdomen, keeping it there for a solid ten seconds. He gives you a breather afterwards, and a sinister warning.

“Do anything like that again, and I’ll make sure the last thing your friend says before she dies is how much she loathes you.”

You purse your lips at him, but otherwise silently agree. Anything you do to him could inadvertently be affecting Maeve, or worse. You’d be damned if you let her suffer any more for your mistakes.

“Why don’t we check up on her, hmm?”

You whip your head up at the mention of seeing her again. You lick your lips apprehensively, and your heart thumps painfully hard as a screen lowers down from the ceiling. It flickers as it brings up a live-stream of Maeve’s holding cell. She looks the same from when you last saw her: dripping wet with bruises.

“Let’s see what happens when you think about testing my patience.”

He swings his finger in a circle, indicting to go ahead with whatever he has planned. You watch the feed with immense guilt; Maeve shouldn’t be here right now. She should be back in Toronto, laying on her bed with her papers strewn about. You wish you never had invited her out to the Tower today. But you can’t take that back now. The regret is still there, and there’s no getting rid of that.

A member of Marko’s organization approaches Maeve, directly inside her cell, and uses the same jolting device on her like Marko did you. You can’t hear her screams, but you can see the amount of pain she’s in. You look away in shame, but Marko orders you to look and see what  _you’ve_  done to her, not him. You watch on in humiliation. She’s shocked once, twice, three more times before the employee backs away. Maeve pants aggressively, and her body spasms. Marko swings his arm again, and the screen rises back up into the ceiling.

“You see?” he says gently, patting your cheek. “No more misdemeanours, and she won’t be punished. Understand?” You nod in compliance, and Marko takes it sincerely. “Good, good.” He catches you completely off-guard as he begins puncturing you twice as many times as Maeve was. “Because next time I won’t be so lenient.”

You scream and scream and scream, but you know no one can hear you.

* * *

Back outside in the quinjet, Bucky is pacing restlessly. He was worried when Tony notified them, he was worried before leaving, he was worried the flight here, but nothing can compare to the anxiety he’s feeling right now. He doesn’t know what to think, what to do. According to you, he’s not allowed to do  _anything_. Not until you come back. He said he’d stay in the jet and wait, but he can’t take this excruciating mission anymore. He has to go in there. He must be able to help in  _some_  way. Making up his mind, he stops pacing, and begins to leave the jet.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Vision flies right in front of him, blocking his path. Bucky still has a hard time believing that Vision is a thing. He’s not sure he’s even spoken to him before. But that doesn’t matter right now. He can’t sit here and be a sitting duck while everyone else is in there looking for you.

“I’m going in there,” Bucky replies, walking around him.

“I believe miss _______ formally instructed you to remain here until the duration of the mission is complete,” Vision reminds him.

“That’s a promise I can’t keep,” Bucky confesses. “And you’re not going to stop me.”

“I will by any means necessary,” Vision chides. “I will not allow you to slip through my fingers, like _______ says. I believe she will be alright. Do you not?”

Bucky stops walking and sighs. He can’t be for sure what’ll happen to you, or what’s happening to you right now. He doesn’t know if you’re going to be okay. He knows you’re strong and determined to save Maeve, but carrying out a mission is anything but perfect. Something goes wrong nearly every time. And he’s not about to let anything happen to you.

“I love her,” he says quietly, biting his lip. “I can’t be sure about her well-being. I don’t know what’s going on in there right now. The others have gone in but… I’m not about to be useless. And I’m definitely not going to stand by while someone dies.”

“You don’t know if–“

“The possibility is always there,” Bucky interrupts harshly. He turns to face Vision, and pleads with him to let him go. “I’m not the same person I was a hundred years ago. And I never will be. But the amount of love and respect I have for someone important to me never changes. It will never falter. I have to do this. Otherwise I’ll beat myself up about it later. And if she ends up dead because I didn’t go in there after her… then I might as well be dead too.”

Vision can’t exactly comprehend where Bucky’s coming from, but the sincerity in Bucky’s voice lets him know that he is a hundred percent serious. Vision also has a protective feeling over the members of the team, and he knows it would pain him deeply if one of them got hurt because of him not being there for them when they needed him the most. Vision nods once, allowing Bucky to leave.

“Go,” he says. “But come back.”

“That’s a promise I can keep.”

And with that, Bucky goes sprinting outside and towards the warehouse, leaving Vision to be the remaining guard outside, and to wonder how this will all turn out in the end.

* * *

You nearly pass out from the pain of the jolt inducer. But you remain awake, alive and breathing. Just how Marko wants you. Conscious, but broken. He has so many other weapons he has lined up for you he doesn’t know where to start. You’re surprised you haven’t died from blood loss, but Marko targeted very specific parts of your body to produce the least amount of blood. You can’t imagine how bad of a shape you’re in right now.

By the feel of it, it isn’t good.

You try to at least control the temperature in the room, but you’re even too weak to do that. Marko’s rendered you utterly useless, unable to help yourself, and the team. There’s nothing you can do now. You either wait to die, or wait to unexpectedly live. Whatever happens, you just hope that Maeve gets out of here safe and sound.

You can barely lift your head as Marko begins explaining the capabilities of the new device he has in front of you.

“It can produce pain close to that of a thousand knives piercing you at once,” he says, staring at it in awe. “It’s shaped exactly like brass knuckles, and it’s even used in the same fashion. But no one will be able to expect just how rapidly the pain will course through you. A little tap here and there is like a pinprick to your finger. But when you put some force behind it, and punch with a purpose? Well. We all know what happens then. It’s only activated by this tiny button on the underside, here. If it’s not turned on, then you’re just using regular brass knuckles. Once it’s activated, you’re wielding an entirely different weapon.”

He does a demonstration, of course, using you as his test subject. He slides them over his fingers, gets into a fighting position, and gently punches your side. It’s just plain cold metal hitting you; no feeling of a thousand knives. He smiles proudly, before pushing the button and landing a more meaningful blow on your thigh. You shriek in pain, and thrash around as much as your body will allow from being pinned down. Marko cries with laughter, thoroughly enjoying his Torture Time.

“I seriously have no clue how you’re still conscious at this point,” he comments, pacing in front of you. “Losing blood, being shocked, instant frostbite, and now this? You’re one tough bitch. But you won’t be for long.” You blink long and hard to keep them open. You can’t fall under now. You’ve lasted this far, and you’ll make damn well sure you stay awake until the very end.

“You know,” he starts, looking around in wonder, “despite capturing you and torturing you to my heart’s content, I don’t know that much about you. I didn’t really care for those kinds of things. I just wanted to know where you were, and when would be the most opportune time to take you. However, there is  _one_  thing I know about you that you don’t want anyone else to know.”

Your eyes widen in fear when he tells you that. Something you don’t want anyone else to know? You can only think of one thing: Bucky. Outside of the team, no one in the world knows where Bucky is right now. People can make their assumptions and inferences, but they will never truly know. But you do, and now Marko does too. You’re not about to admit anything, so you wait for Marko to continue, praying that he’s talking about something else entirely.

“I’m sure the public are dying to know,” he says. “I was too. What is the  _one_  thing that the incredible  _Hellfire_  doesn’t want the world to find out? Well, not to brag or anything, but I found that out a long time ago.” You pant with your mouth closed, and shield your eyes from him. You don’t want him to see the defeated look on your face when he says Bucky’s name.

“The only thing in your life worth protecting,” he taunts. “I suppose it’s something that  _everyone_  would want to protect with their life, if they didn’t want anyone else knowing about it.”

“Yeah?” you call out. “And what’s that?”

Carefully, slowly, he walks right up to you and whispers in your face.

“Your identity.”

You wait until he turns around to sigh a breath of relief. As far as you’re concerned, he doesn’t know anything about Bucky. He might know and just not be mentioning it, but you’re not going to take the risk to ask.

“I know the identity of the newest Avengers’ member, Hellfire,” he sings. “Or should I say, _____ _______.”

You glare at him as he reveals your name, but honestly, you don’t care. Your identity doesn’t even compare to  _Bucky’s_  identity. You’d rather the world find out about who  _you_  really are instead of him. Marko seems to be waiting for some sort of reaction for you, like a person who just made a joke and is waiting for someone to laugh. But you don’t give him one. You just keep staring at him with your resting bitch face.

“Oh come oooon,” he pleads. “That’s all I get? A weak glare and silence? I was expecting more of a response like, writhing around or begging or  _something_  satisfying.”

“Well I’m not going to give it to you,” you tell him.

“You’re no fun,” he pouts. “I guess I could always just release it to the public and let them have their fun.”

“Snake,” you spit.

That comment earns you a forceful punch to the gut, and Marko gets the screech he wants. He smirks devilishly, and is about to give you another one when there’s an explosion. It’s a little far off so it’s difficult to hear, but nevertheless, it happened. Marko growls in anger and whips around to yell at his staff.

“What happened?!”

While Marko goes off, you try to find the will to keep your eyes open. An explosion could mean that there was an accident. Or that Steve finally decided that enough was enough. You cling to the hope that it’s the team making all this noise, but you’re succumbing to the pain now. As Marko storms out of the room to deal with the situation in a different area of the facility, you hang your head, and let yourself rest.

* * *

Steve and Sam are the ones who set off that particular explosion. They’re not exactly watching what they’re hitting, what they’re shooting at, or what they’re throwing people into. Sam is getting edgy about it, but Steve is just desperate to find you. Steve grabs each person he sees and demands to know where you are. When they don’t answer, he strikes them unconscious and moves on to the next one. Tony’s navigational signals have been pretty useful thus far, but being so deep underground is messing with the frequency. Multiple times Tony had to repeat what he said, or had to amp up the connection. Steve and Sam, along with Natasha and Wanda are headed on the right tracks. Natasha and Wanda have their fair share of fighting and swift interrogating, but they’re getting closer to Maeve than Steve and Sam are to you. They’re not far off, though. Natasha and Wanda may have taken an alternate route, but their position to Steve and Sam is only off by a few meters.

“Stark, how much closer are we?” Natasha asks, stunning two men at once.

“Just a–whoa!–about a hundred meters,” he replies. Even though Tony’s job can be handled perfectly well by him alone, it’s a bit more challenging while he’s being shot at.

It’s nothing he can’t handle, however. He wants to get this mission done as soon as possible. He counteracts easily to the firepower using his repulsor beams and propulsion high altitude jets. He asks F.R.I.D.A.Y. how much farther for both Steve and Natasha’s teams, and she relays the message to them separately. They all take their respective routes, and soon enough, Wanda is shouting into her earpiece.

“We found her friend!” she says as Natasha knocks out the last staff member. Natasha uses a key she took from the employee and uses it to unlock the control panel. Wanda enters through the side door and holds Maeve up as Natasha releases the clasps around her wrists and ankles.

“What’s her state?” comes Steve’s voice.

Wanda presses her fingers against Maeve’s neck. “She’s alive,” she responds. “She’s unconscious but she’s okay.”

“Good. According to Stark we’re getting closer to _______. Bring Maeve back to the jet. Sam and I will keep looking.”

“Copy that.”

Wanda drags Maeve out of the room and joins Natasha on the journey back to the surface. Maeve begins to wake up again from all the wobbling around. Her voice is weak, and she can barely walk.

“Wha–What’s going on?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

“We’re getting you out of here,” Wanda replies, giving her a kind smile. Maeve glances at her, but her vision is too blurry to make out who it is. But her voice is gentle, so she’s going to trust in whatever she says. For her sake, she’ll try to stay awake and walk along with her. Natasha has a good enough memory to remember the way back, so she leads Wanda and Maeve in and out of the corridors and stairwells.

Meanwhile, Steve and Sam weren’t having much luck from asking personnel where you’re hidden. Some weren’t willing to talk, and others ran out of there when they saw who was coming their way. But by the thinnest stroke of luck, Steve manages to find someone to lead him and Sam to you. Sam takes care of any others who try to pick a fight with them. He’s surprised from the lack of firearms from the people that operate deep underground. When they reach the modern part of the facility, everyone has already scattered. Taking vital information and destroying the rest via Snyders’ orders. After five minutes of speed-walking, the staff member brings Steve and Sam to your holding cell. Once he opens the door to the viewer’s room, Steve starts.

When Marko left you to see what was going on upstairs, the lights remained on. So Steve and Sam can see every little cut, bruise, and scar that Marko graciously gave you. You’re also sopping wet. Without being given orders, the members had some fun of their own and took turns hosing you down, even though you were unconscious. They wanted to see if you’d wake up at all.

You didn’t.

Steve and Sam don’t know how much blood you’ve lost, but they need to get you back to the jet before they begin to decipher what kind of medical treatment you’ll need.

“Open the door,” Steve demands. The member fiddles with the key before opening the panel and unlocking the door. Sam goes through, and lightly taps your face.

“Spyro?” he says. He holds his fingers to your neck. You’re ice cold. “She’s got a weak pulse, Cap! We need to get her out of here!”

“Remove her restraints.” The member continues to follow Steve’s orders in hopes of being kept alive. Sam catches you, but you don’t open your eyes. You’re breathing, and that’s all that matters. Steve marches up to the member and grips the front of his shirt. “What’s the fastest way out of here?”

“T-There’s a passage,” he stutters. “I-It leads to a secondary elevator that goes straight to the surface.”

“Take us there.”

Steve shoves him forward, following right behind him as Sam carries you in his arms. He keeps speaking to you in hopes that you’ll wake up or give him any kind of response. It scares him to see you so still. He’s so used to hear your laughs and listen to stories from your past. He starts sweating from how worried he is.

“Here we go, Spyro,” he says, keeping on Steve’s tail. “We’re gonna get you outta here. You’re gonna be alright. Old man Barnes is waiting for you back in the jet outside. He’s never going to leave your side when you’re getting patched up, when you’re in bed, or anywhere for that matter. He’s going to yell at us for all sorts of reasons, but it won’t matter because you’ll be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

“How’s she doing, Sam?” Steve asks, voice hard.

“She’s freezing, Cap,” Sam replies, looking down at your face. He turns grim from the sight of you. “We’ve gotta hurry. I don’t know what they did to her, but it wasn’t good. I don’t know how much longer she has.”

“She’s gonna make it, Sam,” Steve assures him, voice steady. “She has to.”

“We’re almost there,” the man announces, peeking behind him. Steve returns the look with an icy stare. Suddenly, all the red warning lights turn on, and a voice speaks overhead.

“Warning. Structural failure. Building compromised. Please find the nearest escape route. Warning. Structural failure. Building compromised. Please find the nearest escape route. Warning. Please find…”

The message repeats itself over and over as alarms go off with it. Steve knows there’s no time to waste and ushers the man along. They can all hear the sound of brick and stone crashing above them. The man speeds along, creating more space between him and Steve. He takes a left, and when Steve rounds the corner, he’s pointing an unknown weapon at him.

“I’m the only one getting out of here,” he says. His hands shake from nervousness, but he’s a hundred percent serious. Steve sees the door of the elevator at the very end of the hall, so there’s no need to keep this man around anymore. Whatever he’s got in his hands, Steve can counter it. He takes a step forward, but the man arms himself and raises the weapon higher.

“Don’t move,” he warns. “I’m not afraid to use this.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Steve tries. “We can all get out of this alive.”

“There’s no need for you to come along,” the man explains. “Killing America’s golden boy is sure to promote me generously. Truth be told, I don’t really want to trap you in here, but it’s the only choice. Besides.” He raises his arm a little more and stretches it out to Steve. “You and your little band of misfits won’t be able to sur–“

Just then, the man is body-slammed into the wall beside him, and slumps to the floor, the weapon falling from his grasp. Steve jumps a bit out of surprise, but it’s replaced by confusion when he sees who the saviour is.

“Bucky?”

Bucky stares down the now unconscious man before glancing up at Steve.

“Steve?”

“Barnes?”

“Sam?”

“ _Sam_.”

“ _Steve_.”

“Steve?”

Steve rolls his head in irritation and stops this name calling nonsense.

“What’re you doing down here, Bucky?” he asks. “You were supposed to stay in the quinjet.”

“You know I couldn’t do that,” Bucky replies. “I couldn’t stay in there while _______ was–“

Bucky stops himself when he sees you limp in Sam’s arms. His eyes go left and right and up and down, observing every inch of you. He sees the blood, the scars, the bruises, the water dripping from your hair; his throat closes up uncomfortably from seeing the state you’re in. He slowly approaches Sam, but Steve grabs his arm.

“Bucky, we have to get out of here first,” Steve urges him. But Bucky doesn’t listen. He rips his arm away from him and keeps his eyes on your face as he closes in on Sam. Sam doesn’t back away, nor does he rush Bucky to get it over with. He can guess what Bucky’s feeling right now, so there’s no point in trying to reason with him. It’s best to just let him have a moment.

Bucky’s heart contracts from seeing all of your injuries up-close. Your chest is rising and falling so faintly, Bucky wasn’t sure you were breathing. The bruising resembles hemorrhaging, but he isn’t sure. The immense purple bruises on your wrists is what worries him the most. So many thoughts are racing through his mind, he’s not sure what to do now except to hold you.

“Give her to me,” Bucky says, brushing his fingers along your cheek.

“I got her, Barnes,” Sam replies.

“Give her to me,” Bucky repeats, glaring at Sam. His tone leaves no room for argument, and he doesn’t want to start a fight about it. Sighing, Sam carefully hands you over to Bucky. Once it’s done, Steve beckons for Sam and Bucky to get a move on. Steve presses his hand to his ear, and listens to the message given to him by Natasha. He nods his head and walks with Sam to the elevator. Bucky kisses your forehead and moves your hair away from your face before following along.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

The three of them make it to the elevator, and take the floor all the way to the top. It’s nerve-wracking to be in there, since the closer they get to the surface, the louder the explosions and gunfire are.

“Her friend made it out,” Steve says. “Wanda and Natasha are treating her right now.”

It’s a weight off their shoulders, but the day isn’t over yet. Now it’s your turn. Suddenly the elevator jolts, and comes to a complete stop, two floors away from the top. The force of the movement causes you to groan and shift in Bucky’s arms. You try to move, but Bucky pulls you closely to his chest.

“Shh shh shh,” he hushes. You groan louder, causing Steve and Sam to turn their heads. You stretch your arm and open your eyes, even though it hurts. Your head pounds against your skull, and it takes a few seconds to realize who’s holding you.

“Bucky?” you say. You sound awful, like a new voice has found its way into you. Even Bucky doesn’t recognize it at first. But he smiles down at you anyway. You laugh without humour. “Why don’t you ever listen to me, huh?” you question.

“Bad habit,” he confesses. You turn your head, and feel relief wash over you as you see Sam and Steve.

“Hey,” you say to them.

“It’s good to you’re your voice,” Sam says. “Even though you sound like shit.”

“Shut up,” you smile. You feel like falling under again, but you know you can’t. You need to help in any way you can, knowing that they’re alive. “Let me down, Bucky.”

“I can–“

“Just lemme down.”

Nodding, he gently lowers your legs to the floor, but keeps an arm around you for support. You need it anyhow. You can’t find much strength in any part of your body, but as long as you can walk, you’re not complaining.

“Welcome back,” Steve finally says, a small smile on his face. You nod in agreement, and pat his arm reassuringly. As you look in front of you and see how dusty and smoky it’s getting, you address it.

“So what the hell is going on here?”

“We’re leaving,” Steve says curtly. “Right now.”

You’d know Steve’s “final decision” voice anywhere. And it’s not like it needs to be said. You can now begin to hear just how much shit you four are in. Steve steps out first, then Sam, followed by you and Bucky. It hurts to walk and be dragged along at the same time, but there’s no room for complaints. You’re not getting crushed by a hundred tons of steel and brick. You can hear Steve shouting into his earpiece at Tony, telling him where to go. But his voice gets lost with all the stinging, white noise you feel inside your head. You know you’re not well, what with all that Marko did to you, but this is ridiculous. You feel as if you’ve just lost your hearing. You nearly fall over when Steve makes a sharp right turn, and develop vertigo from going up a single flight of stairs. Bucky’s hold on you tightens when you swing the other way.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bucky asks as he watches you wobble around.

“N-No,” you reply honestly. “But I’m not about to–to slow you guys down. I’m fine.”

“But _______–“

“I said I’m fine!”

You use Bucky to yank yourself forward and keep yourself upright. You’ve never experienced vertigo before, and it’s really kicking you in the ass. Your left and right is all backwards, and your eyes have trouble focusing on anything, really. But you keep forcing your legs to move, in order to get out, and to see Maeve.

_Oh my god. Maeve!_

“Wait wait wait,” you call, leaning against a railing. You’re panting and sweating and shivering, and time is running out, but she comes first. “We need to go back for Maeve!”

“Maeve is fine, _______,” Steve says. “Natasha and Wanda got her out. She’s safe inside the jet. Now we need to get you there too.”

You nod, and begin running with them as your lungs burn and your legs tell you to stop. You don’t know if you feel dizzy again because of the blood loss, but you suppose it’s everything. You just hope Tony can fix it. After another minute of climbing stairs and running down halls, you finally come by a familiar path, the path that Marko took you on when going to the sub basement. But it’s in ruins.

There’s fires everywhere with collapsed walls and debris scattered around the floor. The heat of the flames diminishes how cold you are, but it’s a small comfort. You watch where you step, while still attempting to run your fastest. It’s a nightmare avoiding it all, but you’re almost at the exit. Getting around a few thousand pounds of stainless steel should be no problem.

But things don’t always go the way you want them to.

Another explosion goes off, and you’re sent flying in the opposite direction of Steve, Sam, and Bucky. You nearly miss being pierced by some broken metal, but instead, you’re thrown against the wall and land unceremoniously on a shattered shelf. Now you’re really not sure you can get up again. You feel an added pain to your left shoulder. As you glance down, you can see a thin metal rod stuck in your skin. You flinch when you try to move. The pain you can deal with (mostly). You just need to get out. And fast.

You scream as you push yourself up, and crawl through the openings you can find. You call for Sam, Steve, and Bucky. When you don’t hear a response, you keep trying. You call their names, and ask if they’re okay. You hear groaning, which is good enough for you. There’s a thick layer of smoke and dust, so you can’t see what’s ahead of you. You trip and stumble and power through the pain, but you don’t know how much longer you can hold out for. It’s getting increasingly difficult to move.

On the other side of the room, Steve, Sam, and Bucky are recovering from the explosion as well. They’re all okay, since they can endure more than you can, but they’re a little shaken too. They recuperate quickly, though, and begin calling out for you.

“_______!” Steve shouts. “_______, are you okay? Where are you?!”

You faintly hear Steve’s voice, but whether you actually heard it or not, you answer him.

“I’m fine!” you shout back. “Got a rod in my shoulder but I’m okay!”

“We’re gonna come get you!” Sam says.

“No!” you say. “You guys get out first! I can find my way!”

“_______, no!” Bucky yells. “We’re not leaving here without you!”

“And I’m telling you I’m fine!” Even though you’re not, you want them out first, knowing you’re right behind them. “I’m ordering you now to get out! And you better follow it!”

“But _______–!“

“James Buchanan fucking Barnes!” you scream. “Don’t give me that shit! Go! When I get out, I’m gonna punch you! Now fucking go!”

The tenacity and anger you give off is enough even to shake Steve. The three of them stare at all of the destruction, the smoke, the ash. You’re in there somewhere, and if you say you’ll be okay, then you’ll be okay. Bucky already went back on his word once. He doesn’t want to breach your trust again. Biting his lip, he regrettably turns his back and walks with Sam and Steve to the exit, leaving you inside.

You yell out of frustration and pain, but you fumble forward, determined to escape. You crawl, limp, stumble, and stagger, but you finally see the bright light outside where the exit is. Grabbing hold of debris, you propel yourself forward, yelling all the while to give yourself some strength and energy. Despite draining both, you’re almost there. You’re almost back to Steve, to Sam, Bucky, Tony, Vision, Natasha, Wanda, and Maeve.

Especially Maeve.

You’re going to give her the biggest apology you’ve ever given. You start mumbling to yourself about what you’re going to apologize for when you hear something ticking. You look all around, but you can’t see where the source is coming from. But it’s not good. You go faster and faster, but you’re only as fast as your body will allow. And it’s not fast enough.

* * *

Outside, Bucky is panicking. You said you’d be out after them, but it’s been too long. He hates following such a  _stupid_  order, but it’s an order you gave, and he doesn’t want to break it. He promised you he would stay in the jet. He didn’t. That was something he couldn’t obey. But he can’t do that twice. So he waits, waits for you to emerge from the warehouse so he can go running to you and bring you back himself. He can’t stand still. He’s too fidgety. He begins walking back again, but Steve grabs hold of him.

“Let go of me, Steve,” Bucky says, trying to shrug him off.

“She’ll come out alright,” Steve assures him. “You have to believe her.”

“Steve,” Bucky warns, scowling at him. “I’m not leaving her in there alone.” Steve’s grip lessens, but he tightens it again. He’s not about to lose two friends in one day.

“She gave us an order, Buck,” he tries. “We have to trust that she’ll be okay.”

“But she’s  _not_  okay, Steve!” Bucky barks, tearing his arm away. “Did you not hear her? She has a metal rod stuck in her shoulder! You call that ‘okay’?! I’m not about to let her bleed out and let her suffer alone in there while I’m standing out here, argu–“

Bucky’s worst fears come to life when the warehouse goes out in one final, gigantic explosion. The fire rises hundreds of feet in the air, the rubble flying in every direction. Bucky’s heart sinks into his stomach. He feels sick, and doesn’t know what to do. There’s a sharp ringing in his ears that he can’t get rid of. His legs almost give out, but Steve keeps him on his feet. Steve tries to talk to Bucky, but Bucky can’t hear him. The only thing his senses are focused on is the burning building fifty meters away, with you still trapped inside.

He moves forward, wanting to get to you, but Steve keeps him in place. He won’t let him go. Even when Bucky’s heart has been ripped from his chest, Steve still won’t leave him. There’s the smallest of chances that you survived, but even Steve doubts that. He knows  _he_  wouldn’t. He can’t say the same for you, but the possibility of survival is an absolute zero.

Bucky screams your name at the top of his lungs. It hurts Steve to hear Bucky sound so desperate, but he can’t let him go in there. No matter what, Bucky keeps running towards the warehouse, his arm stretched for you, but Steve holds him back.

“She’s gone, Buck,” Steve tells him. Steve doesn’t sound sure of himself, but it’s important for Bucky to hear. “She’s gone.”

“Don’t  _you_ , of all  _people_ , tell me that, Steve!” Bucky argues. “Don’t  _tell_  me that. Don’t–“

Bucky finally succumbs to his anguish, and kneels on the ground, Steve still holding him. The team looks on in horror and sadness. Inside the jet, Natasha, Wanda, Vision, and Maeve observe from the window. They saw as much as they did when they arrived. When they understand what’s happened, they begin their own grieving process. Maeve begins crying, and Natasha holds her to comfort her. Bucky’s cries can be heard from the outside, and it only causes Maeve to sob harder.

When Tony receives no further word as to what happened, he flies back down to the ground and joins everyone. He saw the explosion clear as day, but assumed nothing as to whether everyone was okay. When he returns, and sees Bucky having a breakdown, and Sam hanging his head. He doesn’t see you with them. Then everything starts to click.

“Cap, where’s _______?” he asks, trying to keep his voice stable.

Steve simply raises his head, and shakes it no. Tony’s heart lurches, and he looks towards the now incinerated warehouse.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., run a human vitals scan on the building,” Tony demands. F.R.I.D.A.Y. thoroughly investigates the entire building, including the sub basement, but she comes up with nothing.

“No vitals detected,” she says grimly.

“Check again,” Tony says.

“Sir–“

“Dammit, F.R.I.D.A.Y. just check again!”

She does a second run, but still has no results. Tony knows F.R.I.D.A.Y. doesn’t make a mistake. He doesn’t want to believe it. He doesn’t want to even  _think_  about the idea of you being dead. Not on his watch. Not under his care. He’s felt an incredible responsibility over you; after all, he’s part of the reason why you’re here. You were the youngest of the team, right beside Wanda, and saw potential in you. Potential that he got; but he also got snark, attitude, and an unyielding energy he’s not used to being around. The most liveliness he’s experienced is when–well, never. And now he’s lost you, just like everyone else. He won’t be able to hear your laughs, or be able to give you attitude right back when you poke and prod at him. No more embarrassing dancing videos, and no more smiles.

You’re gone.

Now everyone has to find a way to live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh even though this is over 14k this is the fastest chapter I’ve written yet (4 days). I’m surprised I kept at it everyday 


	17. Rebirth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not 100% satisfied with this chapter, but after this, it’ll be progressing into Civil War. After I change a few things, it should be well on its way.

Amongst the silence, Bucky’s howling could be heard from a mile away.

He’s kneeling on the ground with Steve’s arms wrapped around him, consoling his best friend in the best way he can. Steve’s never heard Bucky make such a sound before, for anyone. His wailing is enough to pierce your eardrums, he’s so upset. His throat is raw, and he finally allows himself to cry. He’s not a crier, not usually. But when you have one of the greatest things that life has given to you ultimately taken away?

There’s no reason to hold your emotions back.

He lets go of Steve’s arm and plants his palms on the ground, and bores his eyes into the grass. His entire body shakes as he replays what’s happened in the last few minutes.

 _We got her out. We. Got. Her. Out. I was holding onto her. I was helping her walk. We were almost at the door. We were right_ there _. We could’ve gotten out in time. But the explosion. The blast sent us flying apart from each other. Everyone was okay. Even _______ was okay with a goddamn metal rod plunged into her shoulder. She was alive. She was talking. She wouldn’t tell us to go if she wasn’t able to walk by herself. But I still shouldn’t have listened. I should have gone in there. I should have stayed. She doesn’t deserve to die, not like this. God, not like this._

He starts punching the ground with his metal fist, and watches small patches of grass be forced out by the roots. He keeps beating the same spot, over and over, until there’s a hole in the ground. He clenches his flesh hand around the grass, and pulls at it hardly. He knits his brows together in fury as he painfully stares at the blazing fire. His veins pulse with his aching heart; he refuses to believe that you’re dead. It’s implausible. He feels sick to his stomach just thinking about you not being in his life anymore. He dryly swallows and pushes himself up from the ground. He angrily wipes his tears away and begins walking towards what used to be the warehouse.

But once again, Steve grabs his arm.

“She’s gone, Buck,” Steve tries again, trying to make Bucky accept the truth.

“She’s in there, Steve,” Bucky says. “I’m not gonna leave her alone.”

“Bucky,” Steve pleads, gripping his arm tighter. Bucky stops for a moment before pressing on. “Bucky, stop!”

Steve drops his shield and physically moves in front of Bucky to hold onto his shoulders. He makes Bucky look at him so he knows he’s listening.

“_______’s gone, Buck,” Steve says. “She’s not coming back.”

“Yes she is,” Bucky argues. “I’m going in to get her.”

“No you’re not,” Steve orders. “We’re not going to lose you too.”

“Her life is worth more than mine ever was,” Bucky declares, gazing behind Steve. “And I’m going to see to it that it is.”

Steve drops his arms when he can’t seem to bring Bucky to his senses. Bucky walks around him, still intent on walking into that burning building. Steve scoffs and shakes his head, wondering what the hell is going on in Bucky’s mind.

“You have to accept it, Buck,” Steve tries one last time, turning to face his friend. “_______’s dead. She can’t come back from that.” Bucky’s anger reaches a boiling point and his whips himself around in utter rage.

“And how do you know that?!” he bellows. “How do you know that she’s dead? How do  _any_  of you know?! My instincts are telling me that she’s  _alive_  in there, Steve! She’s–“

“You’re in denial, Bucky,” Steve informs, slowly raising his hands. “You’re not thinking clearly and–“

“I’m not in denial about  _anything_!” Bucky challenges. “You don’t know shit, Steve! She’s–She’s a pyro… fuckin’ maniac or whatever the hell she’s called! She produces  _fire_ , Steve! What makes you think she can’t survive being surrounded by something that she has  _control_  of?!”

“Up until thus far, she wasn’t able to generate flames that engulf her entire body,” Steve explains, inching closer. “The most she could do was up her forearms, but no more. Adding to the fact that she was doused with water and extremely weak, I doubt she could have made a spark with her fingers. You saw how she was, Buck–she was barely strong enough to walk on her own. Let alone concentrate long enough to pull herself together. She wasn’t able to do it, Buck.”

“But that can’t be  _true_!” Bucky cries. He tugs at his hair to search his brain for a conceivable reason as to why you are in fact still alive and not suffering alone in the blaze. “She can survive this. Her body–the fire could have recognized what she’s made of and protected her. It could have flown right past her o-or it… it could have avoided her altogether!”

“You’re starting to sound irrational, Buck,” Steve says, finally closing the distance again. He plays a hand on Bucky’s shoulder but he swats it away. That doesn’t deter Steve at all. He just needs Bucky to understand in the clearest way possible.

“I know this is hard for you to accept,” he starts, voice gentle. “But you must. Look at me, Bucky.” Bucky tilts his head up, and stares at Steve from the corner of his eye. “_______ loved you. I knew it, the team knew it, and you knew it too. Better than the rest of us. She would have taken a bullet for you. You meant the whole world to her. And she wouldn’t want you doing something stupid like walking right into those flames to retrieve something that’s already gone. She wouldn’t, Buck. You have to let her go.”

Bucky begins shaking his head and backing away from Steve. He repeats “no” over and over, trying to convince himself that Steve is wrong. He believes that the harder to denies it, the truer it’ll be.

“No. No. No. No. She’s not dead,” he says to himself. “She’s in there. I have to go get her. I can’t just–“

He looks up at Steve again, desperate for him to agree with what he’s saying, but he simply removes his helmet, and gives him a forlorn expression. Bucky runs a hand through his hair and tearfully looks behind him at the burning building.

“B-But she’s–I can’t–it doesn’t mean–She’s–“

Bucky covers his mouth with his hand and lets out a choked sob as reality ultimately sets in for him: you’re gone. And you’re never coming back.

“Why,” he asks aloud, his lips trembling, “why is it when everything is  _finally_  getting good for me, when things are going  _well_ , that something just steps in and  _ruins_  everything all over again?”

Steve doesn’t know what to say anymore. He’s heartbroken to see Bucky so vulnerable and so goddamn  _broken_. Nothing he can say to him will be able to help now. He just lost the best thing of his life; it’s impossible to see the bright side to that.

Alongside Tony, Natasha also feels immense guilt and responsibility for what’s happened. She was there when Marko broke into the Tower and took Maeve. She could have done something to help. But she was powerless, just like Tony. She doesn’t have many moments like that; there’s been very few instances in her life where she stood and watched instead of taking action. She regrets this one the most. Nevertheless, she keeps a poker face and continues to attend to Maeve’s injuries as best she can.

Sam has been incredibly quiet. He compartmentalizes better than most, so he hasn’t cried, nor expressed any other emotions that would befit the situation. He realizes that you’re dead, and that you’re not coming back. But instead of focusing on that, he’s been thinking about all the good times he shared with you. All the teasing, jokes, pranks. He doesn’t want to remember you in your last moments; he doesn’t want to remember the desperation in your voice. Every time he closes his eyes, he wants to see your smile, to hear your laugh, and to remember the good times. You deserve that.

There’s not much to do now, other than clean up the mess. Steve picks up his shield and throws it on his back before walking up to Bucky to bring him back to the jet. Sam follows suit, his head hung low, his head full of memories. Tony, however, decides to do one more scan for any sign of survivors. F.R.I.D.A.Y. picks up on a single heat signature, and alerts Tony.

“Sir, there seems to be an unidentified male individual about fifty meters to the left of the warehouse.”

Without hesitating, Tony flies to the sky to retrieve the man. Steve calls after him, but he knows it won’t stop him. Steve continues to lead the now silent Bucky to the jet to give him some time to himself; but the harsh  _thump_  that comes from behind him makes him stop, as well as Sam and Bucky. They look behind them and see a man wearing an ashy lab coat, laying face first in the ground. Tony lands beside him and yanks the man back by his hair.

“Why don’t you go on and tell everyone who you are,” Tony says, his eyes icy. The man perks up into a smile, and Tony smacks him across the face.

“Tell them who you are!” Tony yells.

Chuckling, the man smiles again at the three of them before giving everyone an honest answer.

“Marko Snyders,” he says. “Pleased to meet your aq–“

Tony smacks him in the face again before letting him go to stand in front of him with Sam, Bucky, and Steve. Steve starts as he looks at the man calling himself Marko Snyders; he remembers him from the surveillance video of your solo mission. He looks worse than he did back then. But Steve doesn’t care. He clenches his jaw, recalling what happened to you back then. Being shot in the leg and on the verge of death. All because of the man in front of him.

Steve lets Bucky go and approaches Marko as he stands up, intent on giving him a good ass-kicking, but Bucky blows right past him and beats him to it. As Marko lays eyes on Bucky stomping over to him, he holds his hand up.

“Nice to m–“

He doesn’t get to finish his greeting as Bucky sends him flying ten meters back by kicking him square in the chest. Bucky swears he heard something crack, which is an added bonus. There’ll be a lot more of that when he gets his hands on him.

He trudges towards Marko again, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. His pulse is racing, and he needs to punch Marko’s face. And fast. As Marko struggles to sit on his knees, Bucky helps him by grabbing the collar of his coat and pulling him on his feet. Then he punches him across the face, sending him back to the ground. Marko voices his pain, but Bucky doesn’t hear it. All he knows right now is pain; his own pain, and the pain he’s going to inflict on Marko.

Bucky kneels down in front of him, grabs him by the front of his shirt, and starts punching the hell out of him. He uses his metal arm, since he knows it’ll inflict the most damage, and punches the scarred side of Marko’s face. Bucky yells each time he hits him, and feels stronger after each one. He’s secretly satisfied as blood pours after a particularly hard blow. Bucky’s not looking for closure or forgiveness or a truce. He’s looking for a fight, to see blood, and to seek vengeance. He’s not about to let your death be for nothing. He _will_  avenge you.

“The Winter Soldier,” Marko manages to say, despite having a cracked sternum. Bucky pauses with his fist in the air, and fire in his eyes. “Such a p-pleasure. The world’s most… most feared man.” He swallows thickly and coughs a few times, the effects of Bucky’s wrath taking their hold on him. But that doesn’t stop him from getting in a few taunting remarks.

“Such a shame,” he continues. Bucky’s arm shakes as he holds it behind him, ready to knock Marko out if he says something he doesn’t particularly like. Everything that comes out of his mouth is offensive, but Bucky has at least a sliver of control. “I could have done some wonderful things with you. Tinkered what HYDRA put inside you.” Bucky grips his shirt tighter and Marko puts his hands up in defence. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Take it easy, soldier. I  _could_  have done a lot to you. But what I did to poor miss _______? Well. I’d say she’s lucky to be alive after all I did to her.”

Bucky finally lets his arm come swinging and socks Marko in the jaw. He falls to the ground, and Bucky watches him try to collect himself. He smirks from feeling so good. Beating the hell out of Marko isn’t fully satisfying, but it’s enough for the moment.

No one from the team has tried to stop Bucky from beating Marko to an inch of his death. Because truth is, they all want to do it too. But they’re holding themselves back because Bucky is the one most affected by your death. Losing your lover in battle is one of the worst things possible. Tony knows exactly what that feels like; he nearly lost Pepper once. But he can’t begin to imagine how Bucky’s feeling after losing you for real.

They watch on in silence as Bucky beats Marko until he can’t even move. As Bucky stares down at Marko’s beaten, bruised, bloody face, he can only picture you, and what you felt in your last moments. The pain, the fear, the desperation, the loneliness. He wanted to be there with you, to get you out of there. But you didn’t give him that chance. All you thought about was  _him_. To get Bucky to safety first before yourself, because he deserves to live his life to the fullest, even if you’re not with him.

“I want her back,” Bucky growls lowly, scowling at Marko. Marko’s too weak to speak, and one of his eyes has been beaten shut. He doesn’t have the strength to respond. Bucky uses both hands to raise him up off the ground, and shake him in anger.

“Give her back to me!” he yells. “Give her back! Give. Her. Back!”

“Bucky, stop,” Steve urges, staring straight ahead of him. Bucky hears him, but he doesn’t obey. He keeps pounding away with all his strength into Marko’s face. As the team looks up as well, they too tell Bucky to stop. But he doesn’t. Not until his anger has been satisfied. He continues to order Marko to give you back to him, but Marko just hangs loosely in the air, unable to give a coherent reply. Bucky finally shoves him back to the ground, then sits back on his knees. He places his fists on his thighs, and breathes deeply. He can’t do this anymore. He needs to leave.

He brings his leg forward to push himself up, but Marko moves again, groaning in pain. Bucky almost snaps again, but he gains control of himself and lowers back down to the ground. Leaning over Marko, he gives him one final, intimidating expression.

“This is for _______.”

Slowly, silently, Bucky pulls back and wraps his flesh hand around Marko’s throat, and begins to squeeze. He does so leisurely, and wants his face to be the last thing that Marko sees before Bucky kills him. As his grip tightens, a light behind him grows stronger. He has no idea what’s coming, but quite frankly, he’s too preoccupied to be focused on anything else. But when the light gets too bright and too hot to ignore anymore, he loosens his grip, and sends daggers over his shoulder at the source.

His stomach drops.

Something bright, beautiful, and bounded by flames in the shape of a woman stands before him. He’s not afraid, but he’s too stunned to move. He’s never seen something so ethereal in his entire life. He instantly thinks of you, for obvious reasons. But this being doesn’t really look like you. There’s too much flame surrounding her face that he can’t make out any details. However, he strangely feels at ease; a short moment of peace for his tortured mind. The being puts her hand on Bucky’s shoulder, and speaks gently.

“That’s enough, Bucky.”

Even the way she says Bucky’s name is enough for him to lose his breath. He’s surprised to not be consumed by the flames from being touched. He doesn’t sense any cruel intent coming from her, only serenity. The complete opposite of what he’s feeling at the moment. Bucky rises from the ground while staring at her, and takes a step back. She smiles at him, before turning her gaze upon the barely alive Marko, laying motionlessly, pathetically, on the ground.

“Stand up,” she demands. Her voice is smooth and silky, but strong and dominant. Marko opens his eye, and sees something so beautiful that he cannot even fathom who made it.

“Stand up,” she repeats, her patience growing thin. Marko obeys, and steadily takes his time in getting to his feet. When he does, the woman steps forward.

“Ask for forgiveness,” she says. “Do it not, and you will die here and now.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Marko laughs as best he can with the injuries he’s sustained. The woman’s expression changes from calm to almost dangerous. Marko notices the tiny change in the woman’s face, and stretches his arms out beside him.

“And what do I have to be sorry for?”

In the blink of an eye, the woman plunges her fire-coated arm straight through Marko’s stomach, causing him to gag in pain and shock. He can speak no more, and finally begins to succumb to his wounds.

“For hurting my friend,” the woman growls. She twists her arm violently and pushes it in further so she can whisper in his ear.

“This is for Maeve.”

Pulling her arm back, she lets Marko’s lifeless body fall to the earth, and gingerly wipes her arm clean of Marko’s pungent stench. She stares down at the gaping hole in his abdomen now, and finally allows herself some harmony. She stumbles back from using so much of her remaining energy, but keeps herself upright to face the team.

Her flames flicker the longer she stays in this state, but she must explain herself before the light goes out. She musters a smile at Steve, Tony, Sam, and Bucky, and raises her arm for Natasha, Wanda, Vision, and Maeve in the quinjet. Bucky seems to be the only one not knowing what’s going on, since Steve, Tony, and Sam seem to get the picture. At least, they hope they do.

Her eyes find their way back to Bucky, since he will be the one that needs to hear this the most.

“It’s me, Bucky,” she says. “It’s _______.”

Bucky lets out an unsettling laugh. He feels like somebody’s pulling his leg, or playing a sick joke on him. Even though what’s right in front of him is terrifyingly real, he can’t grasp the fact that it’s you. He didn’t exactly see you die, but you didn’t come out of the warehouse when it blew up either. And he knows that no one can survive that.

His mouth goes dry, he blinks rapidly, and grips his hair. He wants to desperately believe it’s you, but the person in front of him seems too different. Her voice, the inability to see her face; it’s messing him up too much. He needs solid proof that this is  _you_.

“Really, Bucky. It’s me.”

She takes a step forward, but he takes one back. He’s so confused, but at the same time hopeful and distressed and in disbelief. The turmoil inside him is blinding his judgement, restricting him from seeing the truth. He’s not afraid. He just doesn’t want to get his hopes up when everything seems impossible.

Realizing Bucky’s inner conflict, the woman takes a risk, and meddles with her power, seeing how much of it she can control. She closes her eyes for a brief second before taking another step towards Bucky and opening them again.

“It’s me,” she says gently, the flames slowly pulling away from her face. “It’s _______, Bucky. I’m alive. I’m okay.” Her face is completely visible now, and Bucky blanches. He’s at a loss for words, but his body says it all: his eyes water involuntarily, his lips part, and his legs shake. He reaches out for you, but stops himself because of the flames. You do the job for him, and reassure him that you won’t hurt him.

“It’s okay,” you say, putting your hand on his cheek. “You’ll only burn if I want you to. And I’ll never want that.”

“Is it–“ Bucky starts, swallowing thickly. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me,” you smile, the tears forming in your eyes.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“ _Really_?”

“ _Yes_!”

Bucky lets his tears fall as he wraps his arms around you tightly and pulls you to his chest in a gripping hug. You hug him back just the same, the tears sliding down your cheeks. Bucky sniffles from holding in more sobs, which only makes you cry even more.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you apologize, clenching the back of his vest.

“I thought I lost you,” Bucky says quietly. “I shouldn’t have–“

“Shh shh,” you hush him. “Don’t worry about that now. It’s alright. It’s alright…”

The rest of the team have their own moments of relief when you confirm that it is in fact  _you_  and not something that just crawled out of the flames. They smile at each other, and at the scene in front of them. What goes from an unbearable reality, turns into an immeasurable bliss. You pull away from Bucky too soon, but despite your new form, you still need some medical attention. However, one thing must come first.

“Bucky?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Yes?”

Stroking his cheek, you smile lovingly at him, before pulling your hand back, making a fist, and punching him in the face. He takes a step back as his head turns the other way, then looks at you in surprise.

“What the hell was that for?”

“I told you I would punch you as soon as I got out of there,” you smirk. He can’t help but smile too and shake his head at you.

“You love to keep your promises,” he says.

“I do,” you agree. Smiling, you hold onto his arm and face Steve, Sam, and Tony.

“I’m glad to see everyone alive,” you say a bit breathlessly. “And I want to give all of you your sense of relief, but I’m feeling a bit under the weather still.”

You stumble back into Bucky from being in this state for so long. Your fire flickers and begins to dim away gradually. Your energy is leaving you just as quickly, so Bucky picks you up again, and brings to back to the jet with Steve, Tony, and Sam following behind. Bucky watches in surprise as the embers begin to disappear, and your naked body becomes exposed. Your injuries are still very prominent, except for one.

“The rod is gone,” Bucky tells you, smiling softly.

“Hmm?” You blink and wearily look down at your shoulder. “Maybe that’s why I feel a little better. Somehow managed to melt it away…”

You close your eyes again and just rest in Bucky’s arms, until he gets you onto the jet and covered up. Natasha, Wanda, and Maeve are in a state of shock when they see you for real. Vision however is steadily calm, and waits to hear for anything that needs to be said.

“She’s okay, for the most part,” Bucky says as Natasha throws a blanket over you. The flames have completely diminished. “But she has a weak pulse, and I don’t know if she has any internal injuries.”

“Get the jet going,” Natasha demands, staring at you wide-eyed. “We need to get back to the compound as fast as we can. Stark, take the wheel. Wanda, come here with me.”

Without hesitation, Tony and Wanda go to their designated positions while everyone else takes a seat. Maeve sits on the other side of you, putting the back of her hand against your forehead.

“You’re so warm,” she whispers, smiling tearfully. Wanda comes to her side, and smiles gently at her.

“I’m sorry, Maeve,” she says. “But we need some space for her.”

Maeve nods once without looking at Wanda and finds a seat for herself while still being able to see you. Bucky does the same thing, leaning his elbows on his thighs, his hands clasped together. His eyes never leave you as Natasha and Wanda determine what kind of medical attention you’ll need. At this point, all everyone can do now is pray.

* * *

You wake up several hours later, about one in the morning of October 2nd. You’re back in the infirmary at the compound, laying in a bed. Your body feels like lead; even just lifting a hand seems like too much energy. Blinking and moaning awake, you stretch your legs and yawn widely, then wipe your eyes. You didn’t think you’d be staring up at this ceiling again. The lights are dimmed, and all you can hear is the gentle sound of the medical equipment monitoring your heart. You take a glance to your right, and do a double-take at what you see.

“Maeve?”

Also in a hospital bed adjacent to yours, Maeve is sleeping soundlessly and peacefully. From what you can see, she isn’t hurt badly. You have no idea what the rest of her body is like, but you trust that Dr. Markson took very good care of her. Your eyes well up just looking at her; she may seem okay, but the immense guilt you feel takes over. Your lip quivers as you breathe deeply, trying to keep yourself quiet as to not wake her. You cover your mouth as your throat closes up, and the tears get hotter.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, holding back a sob. “I’m so sorry, Maeve. This should have never happened. You didn’t deserve this. I’m so sorry I let this happen. I–“

You have to turn away and press your face in your pillow to suppress your cries. Your chest tightens as you think about all they did to her: shocking her, hosing her down with water. You don’t want to think about what else they did to her.

Upon hearing your crying, Maeve opens her eyes. She’s somewhat disoriented from experiencing the longest day of her life, but she knows crying when she hears it. Looking to her left, she sees you holding a pillow to your face.

“_______?” she calls out weakly. You sniffle loudly, and clutch your pillow tightly. Great. Now you feel guilty about waking her up.

“_______?” she calls again. “Are you okay?”

Sighing, you flop the pillow down on your lap and start wiping your eyes and under your nose. Clearing your throat, you turn your head to face her, but as soon as you do, you start crying again. You bite your bottom lip to control yourself, but your voice is still shaky.

“I’m sorry,” you say, letting a sob escape. “I’m so sorry, Maeve. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, _______.”

Maeve wants to get up and comfort you, but given her current state, she’d collapse without any assistance. For now, she simply pushes herself up into a sitting position, and stays faced towards you while she speaks.

“You listen to me right now, _______,” she begins, her tone hard. “This is not your fault. You’re not responsible for anything that happened. Nothing could have been done to prevent this, okay? Nothing you did was–“

“Stop it, Maeve!” you beg. “Please don’t act like everything that happened isn’t my fault. Because–“

“Because it’s  _not_!” she interjects. “You’re not the one who kidnapped me! You’re not the one hosed me with water! You’re not the one that–“

“Basically ruined your life?”

Maeve closes her mouth and sighs while shaking her head. But before she can defend herself, you keep piling on.

“If I never invited you to the Tower– _no_ , if I never even  _told_  you about me, then none of this would have happened,” you say, staring at the ceiling. “You wouldn’t be laying on a goddamn hospital bed from being hosed down with freezing cold fucking water and shocked with a bazillion jolts. You wouldn’t be traumatized or–“

“But I’m not traumati–“

“–developed some emotional damage or psychological. Hell, it might as well be all three. And all because I–“

“Shut the  _fuck_  up, _______!”

The heart monitor clearly states your surprise as it beeps dramatically. You’ve never heard Maeve raise her voice like that; well, not at  _you_ , anyway. And hearing it directed at you honestly makes you want to cry in fear. You’re paralyzed, and your breathing is tight. Maeve notices your distress, but she keeps her firm voice as she speaks.

“That asshole did this to me, not you,” she says. “ _He’s_  the one that kidnapped me.  _He’s_  the one that did those things to me.  _He’s_ the  _motherfucker_  that nearly killed my friend.  _He_  did that, not  _you_! Do you hear me?! None of this could’ve been prevented! It’s–“

“I could’ve killed him on my mission,” you mutter. “I could have  _prevented_  all of this from happening, Maeve. If I would’ve just  _killed_  him on that mission I–“

“He’s dead  _now_ , _______,” Maeve says. “ _You_  killed him. He’s gone. What happened before doesn’t matter now. Because he’s never coming back. He’s never. Coming. Back, _______. Never.”

By now Maeve has calmed down, but you certainly have not. The more Maeve spoke, and you yourself, the more you got upset. Thinking about what Marko did to Maeve is something you’ll never be able to take back. And, traumatized or not, you know Maeve will never be the same. You know she’s strong, but… not everyone is as strong as they make themselves out to be.

(You are a prime example.)

Covering your face with your hands, you shield yourself from Maeve as you begin crying again. Your breathing gets shallow, your eyes sting, and there’s an impeccable weight on your chest that you fear you can never get rid of. You turn on your side so Maeve doesn’t see. She’s only seen you cry this hard once before, and that was a year ago. Hearing how much you want to keep it in aches Maeve to the core, so she slowly, and painfully, gets out of bed and goes to your side of the room, rolling her IV with her. She puts her hand on your shoulder, but you just curl up more. It doesn’t stop her from comforting you.

“It’s alright, _______,” she whispers, rubbing your arm. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

You repeat those words over and over as Maeve tends to you, and you can’t help but feel that it should be the other way around.  _You_  should be the one comforting Maeve, since she was the one that got kidnapped under your watch and was put through intense torture and mental damage. You did as well, and you recognize that, but you’re not your priority right now. You didn’t know what to expect from Maeve, but her stoic and composed demeanour is not what you were anticipating. She hasn’t cried, nor spoken about her emotions. She could just be keeping it all inside and waiting to speak to the right person about it. You suppose she has her own reasons about staying quiet, but crying about everything that transpired shouldn’t be what you’re doing.

“God, this is so  _stupid_ ,” you mutter, more to yourself than to Maeve. “ _I_ should be the one comforting  _you_ , not the other way around.”

“You went through hell too,” she points out. “I’m not the only victim here. You need this just as much as any other person.”

_But not as much as you?_

Finally, you give in, and turn around to press your forehead into Maeve’s stomach. She combs her fingers through your hair, which eventually calms you down to a loud sniffle. It’s quiet for quite some time; you don’t know what to say, and Maeve doesn’t want to speak at all. Being able to help you find some peace of mind satisfies her enough to not have the need to talk about what happened. For now, she just wants to be there for her friend.

After what seems like hours, you pull away from Maeve, and sit up to let her see your face. You give her a weak smile behind all the tears, and continually wipe your face to get rid of them. You clear your throat, and sigh after letting all your anger and sadness out.

“I–“ you begin, intent on apologizing again, but one look at Maeve’s face tells you to rethink your statement.

“Thanks,” you say instead. Maeve smiles and nods.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, patting your shoulder. “I’ll be right in that bed if you need me.”

“Hopefully no longer than necessary,” you say. “In your bed, I mean. I’d rather not see you in that bed for more than a day, at the most.”

“Maybe I will,” Maeve says, heading back to her bed. “I’m feeling good. Nothing really hurts that much anymore. And I’m walking. Sooo… I could be out of here by the morning. After a check-up, probably.”

“That’s very optimistic,” you chuckle, laying back down. “I hope you’re right.”

“Mm, me too,” she agrees. “You on the other hand… you look like shit. Probably feel like it too.”

“I can’t argue with you there,” you smile, glancing down at yourself. “I ain’t feeling too hot. Everything is just so  _sore_.”

“That happens when you’re–well,” Maeve stops herself and sheepishly looks to the side.

“It’s fine,” you wave her off. “I know what you mean. I feel like I got punched by Steve a hundred times.”

When Maeve doesn’t answer, you look over and see she has a dopey smile on her face. You know that kind of look. Well, you think you do. Only one specific think comes to mind when you see a face like that.

“I take it that you met Steve?” you ask, smiling a little bit smugly.

“Yeahhhh,” she sighs contently.

“Sweet, isn’t he?”

“The sweetest.”

“Anything he do in particular that made his sweetness shine?”

“Everything, basically,” she laughs. “He said that I could talk to him about anything. That he’d always be around if I needed anything. His smile, his caring nature… he’s everything that he was livened up to be. America’s Golden Boy and perfect soldier.”

She clicks her tongue then, making you raise a brow.

“Buuut…?” you egg her on.

“But he’s not,” she sighs, loosely crossing her arms. “I mean, it’s amazing all that he achieved and we owe him our lives, but… he’s just one man. He’s not perfect like everyone makes him out to be. He served in the  _second World War_. You don’t come out of a war-torn country and expect to escape without scars. He shouldn’t even  _be_  here, but it’s not like they’re gonna put him back on ice. Fuck. This man deserves the world, but the world doesn’t deserve him. Honest to god.”

“I agree with you there,” you say, getting as comfortable as you can. “He’s seen, and been through a lot of shit. He’s done more than anyone bargained for, simply because he has to. He can hardly ignore a situation where the outcome isn’t good for the masses. There’s still so much expected of him, but all he needs is a vacation. Retirement, even. He deserves to be able to rest in peace, not pieces. Vigilante my fucking ass. He  _needs_  a  _break_.”

“He’ll get one, I’m sure,” Maeve assures you. “One way or another.”

“Well it better not be when he’s dead,” you say. “Otherwise I’ll be  _pissed_.

You huff angrily and pout, staring hardly at the ceiling. Maeve watches on with a sort of amusement, and shakes her head at you. She’s glad that you’re reverting back to yourself, and to be able to speak with you like this again after not seeing each other for months. As the topic of Steve has passed, she decides to bring up another.

“I also met Bucky,” Maeve announces, albeit quietly. Your eyes widen in shock. Not about the fact that she met him because  _obviously_  she did, but about the fact that she’s another person that knows where the (ex-) Winter Soldier is currently residing. It makes you nervous for her safety again. However, Tony’s been able to keep it under wraps from the public eye. And Maeve is an excellent secret-keeper. She wouldn’t dare to expose him like that.

Maybe.

 _You_  may know the real Bucky, but that doesn’t mean that Maeve had already formed her own opinions on him, prior to meeting him. But given all that you’ve said to her about him, you’re hoping at least she’s had an open mind towards him the whole time. Or else, you’re in some deep shit.

“A-And?” you ask, gulping nervously.

“He’s… also sweet,” she says, choosing her words wisely. “He’s not what I expected, to be honest.”

“Oh?” you say, peeking over at her. She seems as if she’s deep in thought. “And what did you expect?”

“Hostility?” she says unsurely. “I dunno if that’s the right word or not but… yeah. The entire flight back to this place, he kept his eyes on you. Once you were treated as much as they could give you, he sat there with you, holding your hand. He didn’t leave your side the flight back, when they wheeled you in, while they were treating you more… hell, I’m pretty sure he was in here while we were both asleep and sat with you until he was told to go back upstairs. I’ve never seen someone so… so–“

“Worried?” you guess. “Nervous? Panicked?”

“In love,” she says, her smile growing fondly. You sheepishly avoid her gaze.

“Shut up,” you whisper in embarrassment.

“But it’s so sweeeet,” she drawls. “Doting on you and speaking quietly with you while you were unconscious. He was worried as fuck, I’ll tell you that. But I could tell that he would crash and burn if you didn’t make it. When the doctor said you were stable, I swear he almost passed out from being so relieved. I was being treated at the time, but he got wobbly in the knees and needed to sit down. I didn’t see him much after that, but when I did, he was always asking about you. Steve was the only one he spoke with, no one else. How you were doing, when he could see you, if you’re allowed to eat. In all honesty, _______, I’ve never seen anyone so devoted before. He fucking loves you, and any who says otherwise is lying to themselves.”

You smile widely into your pillow, and giggle under your breath.

“Yeah, we’ve made it abundantly clear that we love each other,” you mention. “With words of affection and some…  _intense_ , physical contact…”

Maeve whips her head over at you when you say that. Her eyes widen in surprise before her gigantic smile follows.

“ _No_ ,” she says, filled with nothing but excitement. “Did you actually–?”

Your embarrassed, mischievous smile says it all. Maeve claps in congratulations to which you roll over and pull the sheets over your head. Maeve expresses her blessings and gives you a hearty “well done”.

“Stop iiiiit,” you complain, still with a smile on your face.

“So how was it?” she asks, eager to know.

“I’m not saying!” you say, looking over your shoulder. “They have cameras in here.  _And_  audio. I know for a fact that Tony loves watching surveillance videos, so I’m not saying a  _goddamned thing_.”

“Oh come ooooon,” Maeve whines. “Not even a little bit? Besides, I don’t think Mr. Stark would find your sex life that interesting.”

“Oh my  _god_ , Maeve,” you grumble. “And on the contrary, Tony absolutely  _loves_  to humiliate me when the opportunity presents itself. Like playing all the recordings for everyone of me a training room, making a fool out of myself. He’s a cheeky shit, and you better remember it.”

“Okay, okay,” she agrees, waving you off. “But can you tell me  _at least_  if it was good or not?”

“Alright, fine,” you sigh. You’ve been wanting to tell  _someone_ , and you felt that Natasha and Wanda wouldn’t give you the same reaction Maeve would. You shift again so you’re facing her completely, but rest your cheek in your hand as you remember the first night.

“It was… incredibly awkward, at first,” you start, giving her the truth. “We just silently agreed that we were ready and… well. I didn’t know how different it was from the forties, but I knew what to do in this day and age. It took some…  _explaining_ , and just overall getting in the goddamn  _mood_  because saying all that stuff made me stiff. And–don’t even say it.”

You add that part in when you see the sly smile on her face and the raise of her eyebrow.

“I’m not saying  _anything_  about that,” you say before getting back to the story. “Anyway, I tried to laugh to diffuse the tension and so we could have fun with it. He went right along with it, thank god, and after some–um.  _Exploring_ , it happened.”

You pause again, waiting for Maeve’s reaction, but she’s silent and waiting for more. She rolls her wrist to make you keep going, and you shrug.

“What else do you want me to say?” you ask.

“I dunno,” she ponders, hand under her chin. “Maybe how it  _felt_? You can tell me that, right? For you, at least. It’s not everyday that one of your friend’s isn’t a virgin anymore.”

Your face goes red then, because a very important–yet not so important–fact just came to light. You swallow, wondering if it’s okay to tell her this.

“Wellllll,” you say, your voice getting squeakier.

“Well what?” she questions.

“Um.” You look around the room, wondering where the hell the cameras are. Just to be safe, you speak in Gaelic.

“Bhí sé ina maighdean,” you say.

_He was a virgin._

“A  _maighdean_?!” Maeve shouts.

 _A_ virgin _?!_

Maeve didn’t see that one coming. She has a moment to herself, slapping a hand on her forehead, and shaking her head. Blowing her lips, she tries to find the words to give a coherent response, but nothing comes up. It’s just jumbled jabbering. She doesn’t know what to say. After thinking about it, however, she draws her conclusion.

“Okay, I guess it makes sense,” she sighs, still in disbelief. “After all that, um,  _happened_ , to him, it seems plausible. But  _wow_. I never would have guessed.”

“I know,” you agree. “I was just as surprised as you were. But I didn’t judge. And neither did he. It was very nice. Fun, definitely relaxing afterwards. He was so sweet and nervous and so was I and it was just a big pile of cuteness.”

“Awwwww,” Maeve sings, much to your chagrin.

“Shut uuuuup,” you say, covering your eyes. “I love him, okay?  _Fuck_ , I love him so much. And afterwards, bhí gnéas againn ar feadh seachtaine.”

_We had sex for a week._

“Excuse the fuck outta me?!” she shouts again. “ _Feadh seachtaine_?!”

_For a week?!_

“I am surprised at you, _______. But in a  _fantastic_  way! Oh my  _god_! Mo sheacht mbeannacht ort!”

_My seven blessings on you!_

“Go raibh maith agat,” you say.

_Thank you._

Maeve continues to have a small, freak-out moment for your accomplishment. Well,  _both_  yours and Bucky’s accomplishment. She can’t stop giggling or giving you her biggest compliments and cheers. At one point you have to ask her to settle down so no one will come in. It’s the middle of the night, and you don’t exactly want Dr. Markson to come strolling in to do a check-up when you and Maeve are having a private conversation.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Maeve laughs, dialing it down. “I’m done now.”

“Honestly I couldn’t stop covering my face from happiness afterwards,” you confess. “It wasn’t exactly magical or mind-blowing, but it was nice for us. A couple of losers just… being losers.”

“ _Adorable_  losers,” Maeve corrects you.

“Yes, yes we are,” you agree proudly, biting your bottom lip.

Amongst all your laughing and joking, you two have aroused the attention of none other than Dr. Markson. He strolls in and brightens the lights on the way, and smiles at the both of you.

“It’s good to see you two up and about,” he says, closing the door behind him. “But please, don’t push yourselves.”

“Maeve already walked,” you say.

“Walked?” Dr. Markson repeats, eyeing Maeve.

“Just over to me, though,” you clarify.  “Not any further than that.”

“Hmm. While I am glad to hear that you have motor function, Miss Lockette,” he says, “I would prefer you to stay in bed until you’re completely healed.”

“Yes, doctor,” she replies compliantly.

“And Miss _______,” he says next, turning to you. “While I am happy to see you again, I am displeased to see you in this unfortunate state.”

“Me and you both,” you agree, sitting up more. “So what’s the damage? For the both of us, if I might ask?”

Dr. Markson approaches Maeve first, and makes sure that the machines are giving proper readings and to give her a quick once-over.

“Miss Lockette sustained minor injuries,” he starts, asking her to sit up. “She developed hypothermia, as well as yourself, but she was easier to treat. We gave her some warm IV fluids, peritoneal lavage, which is just washing out her abdominal cavity, and some humidified oxygen. After a few hours her body temperature improved and she was stable. Now, while she didn’t receive any serious internal injuries by the cause of a device she described to us as a ‘minimized shock therapy’, there was some damage nonetheless. A small bundle of sensory nerves was targeted in her lower back. How does this feel?”

He puts pressure on one of the spots he’s talking about, and Maeve groans in pain. Dr. Markson pulls his mouth to the side and checks her legs next.

“It’s most likely due to the trauma,” he explains. “It’s treatable, mind you. I always recommend physiotherapy and painkillers first before jumping to a more serious solution like surgery. If the patient does not improve after a certain amount of time, then I am willing to refer them to surgeries.”

“Sooo, she’s gonna be okay?”

Dr. Markson looks over his shoulder and smiles at you, then nods.

“Within time the damage will be reversed,” he says, standing up straight. “We have access to some pretty sufficient equipment and medicines, so Miss Lockette will be better in no time.” You and Maeve smile at each other, but Dr. Markson looks grim. You don’t like that look.

“As for you, _______,” he starts, your smile falling. “You sustained multiple serious injuries. Hypothermia, blood loss, frostbite, muscle damage… I was afraid we wouldn’t be able to repair what had been done to you. It was more serious than your first admission here. I hadn’t seen something like this before. Just what the hell were you doing?”

You shrink down under his intimidating gaze, even though none of your injuries were your own fault. However, it doesn’t make you any less ashamed that Dr. Markson went through that stress as a doctor.

“Nevertheless,” he continues, taking a seat at the end of your bed. “We were given a stroke of luck. The frostbite around your wrists and ankles were fairly difficult to treat, as well as the hypothermia in general. Furthermore, it was as if our efforts were useless because they were not working sufficiently. I feared that you were not going to make it.”

“So what happened?” you question.

“You,” he answers. “Your body fought back. Your power itself, in fact, is what helped heal you. After we tried treating the hypothermia and frostbite, we sent you in for an MRI to examine you internally to figure out what was happening. Your abdomen was severely bruised, and was hard when I put pressure on it. I do not know what kind of object was used, but you had a ruptured spleen. It wasn’t severe enough that the whole thing had to be removed, so we performed a partial splenectomy. This method helps to avoid the increased risk of infection that results from removing the entire spleen.

During your surgery, one of my assistants noticed that the purple bruising left behind from the frostbite began to gradually fade away. Your internal temperature was raising at the same time it was happening. I have zero knowledge about flames on the  _inside_ of the body, but it seemed to do the trick. I classified your frostbite on a third-degree level when I first received you. Third-degree frostbite causes permanent tissue damage, and you could lose all feeling. You could have lost all mobility in your hands.”

You’ve never been so afraid of a doctor before. Hearing what  _could_  have happened if not for astonishing circumstances is utterly terrifying. You didn’t know you could withstand all that without going into cardiac arrest at least twice. You cast your eyes downward and rub your chest uncomfortably.

“There’s no need to worry now,” he assures you. “You’re healing progressively, but I am still going to recommend some therapy for your wrists and ankles. Your power may have restored and reversed the damage, but it wasn’t one hundred percent thorough. You’re just out of the danger zone, and some aftercare is all that’s needed. You will feel weak, as you may have guessed. So I suggest that you stay in bed when you wake up, and then I will be back to examine you.”

“Okay,” you nod.

“And as for scarring… I leave that up to you. The cuts you received weren’t that deep, except for two. We stitched those up, and I want them to heal first before you make a decision. But the others are up to you. They were from the shocking device that was used on you. They are also fairly easy to treat, but you have a lot of them. I did not know what your choice would have been, so I didn’t leave it to chance.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

You peek down your gown, and see several small, reddened scars along your abdomen and legs. You run your fingers along them tenderly; they feel spongy, like a patch of wrinkled skin from an old blister.

_Gross._

“I’ll sleep on it,” you say. “I’ll get back to you in the morning.”

“Sure thing.”

You pull your hand back and lay it down beside you. Overall, you feel fine. Physically. Just sore and tender all around. Your mental state isn’t the best, but when has it ever been? Your sigh turns into a yawn, and Dr. Markson takes that as his cue to leave.

“I shall return in the morning,” he announces to the two of you, moving towards the door.

“Oh, wait!” you call. “Dr. Markson!”

“Yes?”

“What happened to the rod in my shoulder?”

“Rod? There wasn’t any–oh. Oh, I see. According to Mr. Stark and company, you had melted away the metal pole imbedded in your shoulder. The wound was closed up completely.”

“Really?”

“So I’ve heard. There was no indication of an entry or exit wound, so we did not treat you in that area.”

“Oh… okay, thanks.”

Nodding, Dr. Markson takes his leave, and dims the lights back down on his way upstairs. You settle back down into your bed, and are about to say something to Maeve, but she’s already gone back to sleep. Closing your mouth, you turn on your side and pull up the sheets to your shoulders. Your mind is processing too many thoughts at once, making it difficult to fall asleep quickly. You shift positions many times, and rub your eyes out of irritation. But eventually, you close your eyes, clear your mind, and succumb to your fatigue.

* * *

Being the late sleeper that you are, and the fact that your injuries have taken a massive toll on you, you don’t wake up until after two o’clock in the afternoon.

You feel even worse than when you woke up twelve hours ago. Your muscles are stiff, your eyes hurt, and your heart is beating quicker than it should be. These underlying annoyances prompt you to forcefully open your eyes, and stare at the blinding white lights of the infirmary. You groan to yourself, not wanting to face the day. You’re spending it in your bed until tomorrow. Normally you’d love to sleep the day away, but not under these circumstances. Your whole body is lead, and you’re pissed off. Not exactly the best conditions to go back to sleep, nor see anybody. But you know that that won’t not happen. You’re expecting to have some visitors, but right now all you need is Maeve for company.

“Hey, Ma–aaaand you’re not here.”

One look to your right is enough to elevate your irritation. Maeve is missing from her bed. Well, more like she’s been discharged. The entire bed is gone, along with the medical equipment helping Maeve to get better. There’s not much you can do about it, so you just sigh in disappointment and wait to be checked up on.

Half an hour later of being alone with your thoughts, Dr. Markson shows his face again. You show no distinguishable reaction to his arrival, you’re so dead tired. Your eyes are heavy, and you could definitely fall asleep again after being awake for a bit, but Dr. Markson isn’t about to let that happen.

“Good morning, _______,” he says, standing at the end of your bed. He looks at his watch and smiles. “Or should I say afternoon.”

You zone out while he makes his greeting, not staring at anything in particular. Your focus goes in and out, and your head begins to drop. You snap yourself awake again however when he calls your name over and over. You stare up at him wearily, not exactly looking at him.

“Are you feeling alright, _______?” he asks, getting out his flashlight. He shines it in both your eyes, but you just keep staring straight at him. He crouches to be eye-level with you.

“_______?”

“I am–“ you begin, clicking your tongue, “–fucking, exhausted.”

You press your head back into the pillows and yawn widely as you shift in your bed in hopes of waking yourself up more. Dr. Markson checks up on the equipment to see how your health is progressing before examining you. He has you sit up, tired as you may be, and turns your wrists over, then looks at your ankles. He’s absolutely astounded by how much they’ve repaired themselves, but he is still going to recommend therapy.

“I suggest you do some whirlpool therapy,” he says, standing back up. “It keeps the skin clean and naturally removes dead tissue. It’ll be in one of those deep tubs, like what athletes use for ice baths. I have one prepared for you in the other room for when you’re ready. And have you given any thought to your scars?”

You nod when he mentions the bath for you, then tilt your head to the side when he asks about your scars. You just don’t want your family and friends finding out about them. But they’re ugly anyway, and they remind you of Marko.

“Get rid of ‘em,” you decide. Dr. Markson nods, then helps you up to take you to your bath. He unhooks you from your IV and helps you walk to an enclosed room with a sizeable bathtub just waiting for you. He allows you some privacy as you get into the tub, the jets already turned on. Once you’re settled, Dr. Markson tells you what to do.

“Keep moving your arms and legs,” he says. “It’ll help circulate the flow. The allotted amount of time is half an hour. When you’re finished, we’ll wrap up your wrists and ankles for good measure and you’ll be good to go. I will come back later to remove your scars.”

“Okay.”

Dr. Markson leaves once more, but a nurse is on standby if you need anything. The bath makes you smile because it’s so warm. You contently swish your arms and legs around like he said, and gingerly trace your fingers over wrist. You can’t believe how much it’s healed on its own. You have no idea if it’s because you have some underlying healing abilities that you never knew about. It can’t be the case because it never happened when you got hurt before. But maybe because the wounds this time are so serious that your power began acting up to protect yourself. You barely have any knowledge about your capabilities, so you’re in the dark about this.

Either way, you’re just glad that you still have feeling in your hands and feet.

You don’t want to leave the tub when the therapy is over, but you get out quickly and get dressed with the clothes provided for you. They’re simple sweats, but they’re cozy. The nurse applies the bandages, and lets you go right after. You thank her and take your time going upstairs. Your mood is still a little iffy, even though the bath calmed you down. Facing everyone is what you’re most nervous about. It should be fine, for the most part. You just want to act normally and not like anything is wrong.

You get a chill as you’re walking up the stairs, and stop walking to compose yourself. You instinctively rub your wrists, and take a deep breath.

“You’re fine, you idiot,” you say to yourself. “I’m barefoot. Of course I’d get a chill.”

You continue on your way, pulling your hoodie sleeves over your hands. You’re practically shivering now. The heat from the bath quickly disappeared as soon as you left it. You annoyingly stuff your hands in your pockets and trudge upstairs to the kitchen. But you hesitate when you reach the end of the stairwell. You peek through the window, but all you see is the wall. You open the door and peek your head out; you don’t see anyone there. You don’t know why you’re so anxious, but you suck it up because you  _really_  want to see your friends.

You creep down the hall, staying close to the wall. You don’t hear anyone in the kitchen and living room. You sigh a breath of relief, but your heart jumps out of your chest when someone calls out to you.

“_______?”

Turning around, you realize you’re right in front of Bucky’s ajar door, and peek inside. He’s sitting at his desk, writing in a journal, with a pained expression on his face. You open the door to reveal yourself, and muster a weak smile.

“Hey,” you say, waving. His mouth drops open, utterly astounded that you’re up and walking.

“How–How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Alright,” you reply, stepping inside. “Could be better but… I’m okay.”

He gets out of his chair, and takes four big steps to close the distance and wrap his arms around you. You didn’t realize how much you needed a hug. Relaxing into it, you return the hug, gripping the back of his shirt. You absolutely cannot begin crying now, otherwise you won’t be able to stop. And you don’t want Bucky, or anyone else for that matter, see you like that. Sobbing is one thing, but uncontrollable, hysterical crying gives off a very different impression. You suck all of your emotions back and just enjoy this time with Bucky.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into your hair. “I’m so so sorry. I should’ve–”

“Bucky, how many times do I have to tell you?” you interrupt. “It wasn’t your fault. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“But I do,” he says. “I  _do_ , _______.”

He pulls back and looks at you.

“As a former soldier, and as a person, I have the duty to disobey an immoral order,” he explains. “I never had the chance because I was never given such orders, but I did when you told me to go. I never should have listened. I should have dragged you out of there. You were freezing and beaten and bruised and you had a  _rod_  in your shoulder and I  _should not have left you alone in that warehouse_.”

He cups your cheeks and makes you look at him. You put your hands on his and lean into his touch. He gives you a sad smile, then kisses your forehead.

“I’m never listening to you again,” he says.

“I can never win with you, can I?” you joke.

“I guess not.”

He then leads you over to his bed, pushes you down, and slides in next to you. He sees the small smile you have before it disappears from your face. He immediately reaches for your hand, and notices the bandages wrapped around your wrist. He frowns at it.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice laced with concern. “Does it hurt?”

“I’m fine,” you reply, turning your wrist around. “It doesn’t hurt at all. Maybe a little numb still, but it’s nothing serious. Dr. Markson said that… my body or power or whatever healed whatever what was affected. But that doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t know how true that is, but fact of the matter is… it’s healed. Well, about ninety-five percent healed. I did some therapy when I woke up for my wrists and ankles. They should get better if I keep doing it.”

“I hope you stick to that regimen,” Bucky says. “I’ll know if you don’t.”

“And how will you know that?” you question, lowering your hand to the bed. “Are you going to come with me every time I do it?”

“If you want me to,” he says. “And it’s fine if you don’t. But just keep doing it. It’ll give me some ease. Please?”

“I will,” you promise. “It’s a whirlpool therapy, and I greatly enjoyed it. It’s warm and it tingles a bit. It’s just for my wrists and ankles, but my whole body gets treated. I like it.”

“I have no doubts then that you’ll stick with it,” he smiles. Despite your slight smiles and willingness to take care of yourself, Bucky will still worry about you. What you went through was absolutely maniacal and horrifying. You’re scarred in so many ways, and he doesn’t want to see you reduce yourself to what he’s become: a shell of what he used to be. He doesn’t know who he is anymore. And he hopes to god that you won’t go through the same crisis. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if you did.

He wraps his arm around you, and cradles the back of your head. He’s not very good at finding the right words for situations like these; he used to be okay at it, but after everything that’s happened to him, his mind is muddled. But he does his very best to comfort you.

“_______, listen to me,” he begins softly. He feels you tense up, but he just strokes the back of your head and continues on. “Whenever you’re feeling the lowest of the low, please come talk to me. You don’t have to look at me, or speak to me directly. You can be speaking to yourself and pretend that I’m not there. It doesn’t matter. But… just speak your mind. Whatever it is, you can tell me, directly or indirectly. You know I’m always here to listen. Will you promise me?”

You heart constricts from how genuine he is. You don’t know if you can keep that promise. You never, never,  _ever_  tell anyone about what’s going on in your head. Not Natasha, not Steve, not even Wanda (she could easily peer into your mind whenever she’d like, but you have faith that she wouldn’t do something so invasive). Everything is too personal to talk about, so you keep your mouth shut. You’ve written some things down in a journal, but the relief only lasts for so long. Soon enough, a new problem would snake its way into your life and give you something new to worry about. It’s all the same things, but they find a way to circle around you and make it more complex than it needs to be.

Chewing your lip, you dip your head down, giving the impression that you’ve nodded. Bucky takes your supposed answer, and hugs you tighter. You wrap your arm around him as well and press your forehead into his chest. You can’t believe how unbelievably lazy and tired you’ve gotten over the past few weeks, but you’re jaded, and need at least an hour of sleep. You yawn widely and flutter your eyes until they close. Bucky senses that you’ve fallen asleep, so he presses a kiss to your head, and pulls up some of the blankets on you. He stays awake a while longer before joining you in a calming slumber.

* * *

You’re as cozy as can be when you open your eyes again.

It’s pitch black in Bucky’s room, but you know the familiar feeling of being wrapped in his arms. And the comforting smell he carries with him. It brings a smile to your face.

You’re burrowed into Bucky’s chest, with his big, warm arms wrapped around you. You can feel the heat radiating off of him. You try looking around, but he’s got you firmly pressed against him. You yawn widely and stretch your legs, prompting him to shift. His grip loosens on you, and he rubs his face against his pillow. You take the time to feel him; running your hand down his back, along his arm, his neck, to his hair. You stroke his face with the back of your hand until he opens his eyes. He’s a groggy as you are, and brings his hand up to rub his eyes.

“_______?” he says.

“Hi,” you whisper.

You yawn again and stretch your arms before snuggling back into him. You feel better than from waking up from your other naps. No headaches, no tiredness in your eyes, no nagging feeling to stay in bed. Though it would be very satisfying indeed to stay in bed with Bucky and cuddle the hell out of him, but you need, and want, to see the rest of the team. And Maeve. You want to know where she ran off to.

But you decide to have one small, heart-warming moment with Bucky before getting up.

You use your hand to find his lips, then push yourself up to kiss him. He reciprocates sensually, his hand snaked in the back of your hair. You slide your hand down his side and stick it up his shirt, and trace your fingers around his skin. His hips shift forward at your action, making you smile. You pull away, but continue kissing him along his neck. He pushes his hand up your shirt as well, and rubs circles on your lower back. You shiver at his touch, and trail your hand farther up his back. His shirt rises, and he presses you against him. You chuckle and pull the hem of his shirt over his head. He groans, but you just laugh at him. He pulls you on top of him, and pokes his head out.

“Am I that ugly that you have to cover up my face?” he wonders, smiling a bit.

“Mmmmm yeah,” you joke, cupping his face. You give him a kiss, and grin widely at him. “Of course you’re not. You’re beautiful, Bucky.” You brush the stray strands from his face and stroke his cheek with your thumb.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“I feel a lot better now.”

He smiles back at you, and pulls his shirt down before rising up to envelop you in a hug. You sit in his lap with your legs wrapped around his waist, while he sets his chin on your shoulder and rubs his hands up and down your back. You make the happiest of noises in the back of your throat, causing Bucky to chuckle.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. You can’t control your smile and just snuggle into his chest.

“Shut uuup,” you mutter.

“Never.”

He kisses the side of your head before dragging his feet over the side of the bed and standing up, still with you clinging to him. He securely laces his hands together under your butt to keep you upright, and leaves his room to bring you into the kitchen. You stifle your laughter into his shoulder, but joyfully enjoy the fact that he’s carrying you like this. He stops, and you’re about to ask him why when he turns around, allowing you a good view of everyone staring at you. You yelp in surprise and jump down from his arms, embarrassingly flattening the front of your clothes.

Everyone casts a smile in your direction. You want to cry from how relieved they all look, but you’ve had enough of that for a while.

“Hey guys,” you say. The whole team seems to be present, two people are missing. “Where are Tony and Maeve?”

“Discussing Maeve’s absence,” Natasha speaks up. “Though I don’t know what else. They’ve been in Tony’s lab for quite some time.”

“I’m sure she’s just mesmerized by all of his toys,” Steve says. “But she’s okay, first and foremost. She’s been very… ecstatic, since this morning.”

“Of course she is,” you smile. “I’m glad to hear she’s doing okay. But I want to see her. Right now.”

“I shall go retrieve the two,” Vision offers, sinking into the floor.

“I sorta missed him doing that,” you say to yourself. You look up again and give everyone a smile, but you can feel the tears trying to push their way through. You manage to keep them in for a short minute, but they spill over once you begin giving everyone a hug. You’re overwhelmed with emotion; you had the biggest scare of your entire life, not knowing if you would see them again. But here they are, in the flesh, alive and well.

Moments later, Vision comes back with Tony and Maeve, who are still deep in conversation. You perk up at the sound of her voice, and turn around, clutching your chest. She looks completely fine on the outside, but you know, you  _know_ , she’s burning on the inside. When she looks at you, she gives you one of those smiles where she’s excited about telling someone how much she loves the environment and what she’s going to do to hone it.

You can’t even hear her as she approaches you; all you see is her smile, and the fact that she’s walking on her own. You meet her halfway and wrap your arms around her, and squeeze tightly. You rapidly blink the tears away, and revel in this moment with her. She hugs you back just as enthusiastically, and continues to chatter your ear off. She’s glowing when you pull away from her, which only makes you embrace her again. She stops her ranting and takes the time to give you a real hug, without her unknowingly ruining it.

The room goes silent as you and Maeve have a reunion. Though it was reassuring to see her when you woke up in bed, it’s much better to see her walking on her own two feet. Her hug is warm and familiar, yet secure and surprisingly strong. She’s never hugged you with such ferocity before, but you couldn’t care less. It feels great.

“You look a lot better,” you mention as you pull away again. You give her a quick once-over, just to be sure.

“I am a lot better,” she confirms, swinging your hands. “A little bit sore in some places, but overall, I’m good! Mr. Stark was showing me his lab! It’s huge! He was showing me this  _amazing_  piece he’s working on and–“

“Ah bup bup,” Tony cuts in. “That’s still a secret. Can’t go giving anything away, Miss Lockette.”

“Oh, right, sorry,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck. “Guess they’ll just have to wait and see!”

“Exactly,” Tony agrees.

“Another secret project?” you guess.

“Yup,” Maeve says. “It’s a really good one.”

“Then why do you get to know about it and we don’t?” you ask, though you don’t really mind.

“Because he likes me best,” Maeve smiles.

“I’m sure,” you smile, giving Tony an eyebrow raise.

“Enough about that,” Tony says, ending the conversation there. “_______ is up and about. Welcome back.”

“Thanks.”

No matter if he likes it or not, you move forward and give him a hug as well. You don’t remember the last time you saw Tony hug someone. He probably needs it, anyway, so you make it last. You pull away when you sense he’s had his fill, and smile up at him.

“How you feelin’ kid?” he asks.

“Better,” you reply. “My wrists and ankles still need time to heal, but I’m good. Dr. Markson will get rid of the scars, too. After that, I know I’ll be alright.”

After greeting everyone equally, you all sit down for dinner. Tony made an order of Chinese some time ago, and arrives right on time. Sam, Steve, and Bucky bring everything in, and organize it on the table in the dining room. You’re surprised by how lively everyone is; you know they’re happy about you and Maeve being alright, but you didn’t expect  _this_.

Sam and Bucky have seemed to have called a truce, and are actually talking to each other without casting in a sarcastic remark or arguing about stupid things. Tony hasn’t teased anyone (in a bad way), and Vision is speaking more. You don’t know what else has all of them in a good mood, but you’re not complaining. You all have a nice meal together. Maeve is the most enthusiastic of the bunch, since she’s meeting such extraordinary people all at once. She has a mountain of questions for each person, including Bucky. They’re all safe questions, though. She knows not to say anything sensitive or put someone off, just like a regular person would. Just stuff about their lives, what they like, what they do in their spare time. Generic things when getting to know a person. And she’s loving every minute of it.

Afterwards, everyone goes to their own quarters. Maeve has taken a very strong liking to Steve, Wanda, and Natasha, so she stays with them. Meanwhile, you decide to go see Dr. Markson to remove your scars. The two more serious ones you’ll leave alone, but the many others scattered along your body have got to go. You don’t need the daily reminder. Bucky goes with you, because he wants to be with you for the remainder of the night and see how this goes. He’s never seen how something like this works, so it’ll be informative for him.

The process is fairly simple and painless. Dr. Markson has you remove your clothes and spread your arms and legs evenly so he can access each scar with ease. He uses a small, hand-held device that sends pulses into your skin. It looks like a hot glue gun, in your opinion. But the red light emitting from the tip fluidly removes your scars with no trouble at all. The whole procedure takes about half an hour, so you speak with Bucky during the entire thing.

“You nervous?”

“Nope. You?”

“Why would  _I_  be nervous?”

“Because you came down here with me.”

“Of course I did. I wanted to be with you.”

You smile widely at him. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to hearing Bucky say that. You’re not even sure if  _he’s_  used to it yet. You’re still very new to having a relationship with a man, and Bucky having a relationship with anyone at all. You’re both still healing from new and old wounds, but so far, you’ve been nothing but supportive of each other. Offering comfort and insight and sympathy when needed.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, staring down at Dr. Markson’s hands. He only has a handful more to go. That time is spent in a comfortable silence, and when Dr. Markson is finished, you sit up to get a good look at yourself.

“It’s like they weren’t even there,” you comment, smoothing your fingers over where the scars used to be. “Thank you for this. I really appreciate it.”

“You’re most welcome,” he says, taking off his gloves. “There is no aftercare needed for this. Just keep up with your whirlpool therapy.”

“I will. Thank you again.”

You put your clothes back on as Dr. Markson takes his leave. Bucky takes you back upstairs, and you go straight to the kitchen to see if there’s any ice cream in the freezer. Luckily there is, so you grab the tub, two spoons, and plop down on the couch with Bucky trailing behind. You happily lay his legs over your lap and share the ice cream with him while watching TV.

The whole atmosphere seems very domestic to you. Sitting together at home, having a night in, watching some simple TV and falling asleep together. It’s exactly what you’d imagine yourself doing someday, even though you did it quite often with Maeve. But it’s much different when it’s with your lover. You even eat the rest of the ice cream when Bucky can’t have any more. Then you bury yourself against his chest while he throws a blanket over you. Steve, Wanda, Natasha, and Maeve are upstairs, Tony is most likely in his lab, Vision in his room, and Sam either in his room as well or has made his way upstairs to join the fun. But being here with Bucky is enough to keep you calm for the remainder of the night.

You two retire early to bed, despite it being ten at night. You’re nearly falling asleep on the couch, and you don’t want a sore neck in the morning. So you force yourself up, and grip Bucky’s arm to drag him off to bed as well. He’s grumpy about it, but once you push him down on his bed he instantly recoils. He pulls in his legs and hunches over. You crawl in beside him, put the covers over him, and decide to be the big spoon tonight. His metal arm is lukewarm since you were laying on it in the living room, so you settle into him quite nicely. You kiss the back of his neck and grasp his hand.

“I love you, Bucky,” you whisper as a goodnight.

“I love you too,” he says, kissing your fingers.

“See you in the morning.”

You manage to keep him in your arms the entire night, and also prevent him from having any nightmares. But that doesn’t stop you from having some of your own.

* * *

A week later, on October 9th, Maeve is going back home.

She’s had a tremendous time at the compound, you’d say. She was smiling, participating in every conversation, and wouldn’t shut up about all that she’s learned. And not one ounce of her happiness annoyed you. She’d been given the opportunity to get to know the Avengers when they weren’t risking their lives for the world. And even though she can’t speak a word of this to  _anybody_  back home, she’s perfectly fine keeping it to herself. As long as she’s able to share her experience with you over and over, she’ll forget that it was even a big event in the first place.

You walk with her to the private landing strip outside the compound where the jet is waiting for her. Tony tags along as well, to see that things go over smoothly. It’s a surprisingly quiet walk, though everything Maeve wants to say, she’s already said. It’s news enough to be able to meet at least  _one_  member of the team, but all of them at once? You’d have a small riot on your hands.

Once you’re nearing the steps of the jet, you sigh, and stop walking, as does Maeve and Tony. He hangs back to allow you to say a proper goodbye.

“This… isn’t exactly how I wanted you to meet everyone,” you say solemnly, but manage a small smile. “But I’m really glad you did.”

“So am I,” she agrees. “And sorry for chatting your ear off. I’m sure you knew everything I told you.”

“Mostly, yeah,” you nod. “But I didn’t mind. You have the right to be excited, and you know I love talking about them whenever someone brings them up.”

“We just can’t help ourselves.”

“No we can’t.”

You have a small laugh together before Maeve brings you in for a hug. You immediately reciprocate it, and control the tears when you feel yourself getting emotional. Even after hugging for a solid minute, you feel like she pulls away too early. The wind whips her wild hair across her face, and she pushes it behind her ear.

“Be sure to still keep my updated,” she says. “On them, and on you.”

“Same to you,” you say. “I wanna know how you’re doing too.”

“Agreed.”

Just then, Tony steps in, and holds out a long, rectangular box for Maeve. He hands it over to her, and she takes it.

“Just a little goodbye gift,” Tony says. “Nothing too fancy.”

Maeve takes off the lid, and her eyes widen as she stares down at what seems to be a very expensive looking Michael Kors watch. She takes it out and watches the diamonds shine in the sun.

“This is–“

“No need to thank me,” Tony interrupts. “Also, it’s not just a watch.” He makes a gesture that tells her to flip it over, so she does. “See that there? There’s a button inside that’s exclusively designated for extreme emergencies. If you ever need us, we’ll be there.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Maeve quickly says before Tony cuts her off again. “This is more than I could ask for. I don’t know how else to–“

“No need,” he interrupts again, holding up a hand. “It’s the least I could do after all that’s happened. And I am assigning a body guard for you. Though he will act as a sort of concierge for your apartment building. If you’re ever in trouble, he will be there. He’s waiting on the jet.”

“Thank you,” Maeve says again. Tony can only smile, and offer a small hug before taking a step back to watch her take her leave. You share one last hug with Maeve before she disappears up the stairs and into the jet.

“You gonna be okay?” Tony asks you.

“I will be,” you say. “But it’s her I’m worried about. She hasn’t said a word to me since that night in the infirmary.”

“She’ll be alright, kid,” Tony assures you. “She’s strong. From spending just a few hours with her, I can tell that she’ll pull out of this okay.”

“I hope you’re right. And what is she gonna say when she gets home? She’s still in school, y’know. Her friends will know she wasn’t there.”

“I got that handled.”

“What did you say?”

“That I reviewed her work and decided to give her a tour of the clean-energy Tower. And gave her a few tips and tricks about how to achieve that.”

“Clever.”

“She’s bringing back evidence, too. I gave her some blueprints and my personal notes. So she won’t be lying about where she was.”

“Always a way out.”

“Exactly.”

“Thank you, Tony.”

“No problem. Come on. She’s gonna be fine.”

“Un.”

The two of you watch the jet take off, and you don’t go back to the compound until the jet has disappeared from your sight.


	18. Civil War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello everybody! After almost a year of creative hibernation and taking a break, I'm back to bring you the last chapter of Endings and Beginnings! Thank you to everyone that has kept up with this story thus far, and I hope that this final chapter satisfies you!

_November 4 th_

It’s been nearly a month since you miraculously survived a warehouse explosion.

Things have been… rocky, so to say. You’ve told everyone that you’re alright, that you can handle the repercussions from the incident. But they didn’t believe you for a second. You got defensive and even shouted at them angrily that you didn’t need to be babysat and kept on a 24-hour watch. They backed off after that.

Now, you spend most of your days alone. Training, doing simulations, jogging; anything to keep your mind off of things and to not think about what happened. You’ve written in your personal journal about your thoughts on things, and that definitely has helped a lot. It’s not like they can just call up a therapist to help a member of the Avengers. Technically they _could_ , but you would definitely prefer not to. It’s not like any of the others do it. So why should you?

Bucky has obviously been the one worried most about you. You like the attention, but you’re not made of glass. You can take care of yourself like you’ve always had.

For the most part.

Surviving when you should have died puts a hell of a toll on your mind. It’s not like anyone else died instead of you. You don’t have survivor’s guilt, like Steve did. You feel guilty because if you had just killed Marko on your first mission like you nearly planned on, none of this would have happened. You wouldn’t have had to put Maeve, Bucky, and everyone else through the horrible torture of that day’s events.

The only palpable solace you’ve had is Maeve. A day after she returned home, she told you all about how her classmates were excited and jealous about her meeting Tony Stark and getting his personal expertise for her interior environmental designs. And also about being to the original Avengers Tower, and being given his own blueprints and notes about clean energy. Needless to say, everyone wants a piece of her. But Maeve is no fool.

“I don’t fall for their tricks,” she told you. “I know who my friends are. And they’re just as interested in Mr. Stark’s designs. They’re a little hard to follow, but we’ll figure it out. But enough about me. How are you? You having a good day?”

Having Maeve fangirl improved your mood enough to lie to her, to an extent. You said that everything was still fresh, and that you would need lots of time to heal. The day was fine, but your mentality was not. You made sure she knew that, and then ended the call soon after. Being left alone with your thoughts wasn’t exactly the ideal situation, but it’s what you wanted. And despite the team coming forward to be there for you, you were getting tired of hearing those lines. You weren’t a broken doll. You were just damaged.

And one way of dealing with your emotions is shooting at the gun range.

You never tell anyone where you go nowadays, since it simply wouldn’t matter. Everyone has their own business, and so do you. You wouldn’t mind if one of them joined you, but you prefer to do this type of training alone. It’s easier to shoot an unmoving target if you have your undivided attention on it.

You bring three types of guns and multiple magazines with you as you head to the gun range on the second floor. The same room the first time Natasha taught you how to hold, use, and disarm a gun. You set them down on the floor and bring the targets forward. You’re not going to leave this room until you hit the headshot and chest areas perfectly. No excuses, no mistakes; so for the next time you won’t freeze so foolishly.

After an hour of practice and the sound of bullets ringing in your ears, you take the time to bring the targets forward and see your progress. You furrow your brows when you see that all but one bullet strayed away from your desired destination. The other two targets seem good, however. One with a clean centre mass grouping, and the other close to the ranks of Annie Oakley, but not perfect. A little drifting, but otherwise, if you actually shot someone with those marks, they’d be dead on the spot. Nine out of ten of them would die.

Sighing in disappointment, you send the targets back and gather your guns. You don’t know which one suits you best, based on weight and overall performance. All you know is that you still hate guns. You stuff them in their bag and pull out your old, cottony mask and loop it around your ears. You feel more comfortable wearing it around the compound most of the time now because no one can read you as easily. You want to avoid the “Are you okay?” questions as much as possible. You also slip on your old fingerless gloves as well. They’re durable, fashionable as hell, and they make you feel safer.

You sling the bag over your shoulder and trek back upstairs to take a shower. Showers always make you feel better. The hot water hitting your face, the pleasant scent of shampoo and conditioner, and cleansing the dirt and grime from your skin. It’s an experience that can’t compare to a lot of things. You haphazardly drop your gun bag on your bedroom floor and strip down on your way to the bathroom. Like usual, you take your time, since you have nothing better to do. These days, you have no idea _what_ to do.

When you’re finished, you put on sweats and an old t-shirt and go on your laptop to see if there’s any new music out or vine compilations. YouTube lets you know right away that BTS has released a new remix song, titled “MIC Drop”. Shrugging, you click on the video and wait for the song to begin playing.

You’re smiling genuinely by the end of the video. Now you’ve found another thing to keep you sane for a while longer. Music keeps you happy; you hope this time it can last.

You spend the next couple hours watching the video again and again to remember the dance moves, just to keep yourself distracted. It’s better than wallowing in your guilt and shame. The song and the band itself makes you happy, so there’s no harm in it.

After a while though, there’s an inevitable knock on your door.

“_______?”

It’s Steve.

“Are you coming out for dinner?”

You grumble to yourself, knowing this was going to happen one time or another. It always does. You pause the video and turn around in your chair to stare at the door.

“In a bit,” you call.

Steve sighs in disappointment, but he was expecting this result. It’s been like this for the past few weeks. Steve is familiar with the signs (despite not recognizing them in himself) of this type of behaviour: holing yourself up, not speaking to anyone, eating on your own. You’re traumatized, you’re hurting, and you don’t want to speak about it to anyone. The guilt eating away at you, feeling like you’re alone. Steve has been wanting to talk about all of it with you, but he’s never found the right time. You’re always finding some way to occupy yourself, and he doesn’t want to interrupt. Maybe tonight he’ll finally catch a break.

For now, he leaves you be.

You listen to his footsteps as he walks away, blowing your lips. You really don’t like ignoring Steve or brushing him off, especially when he’s just trying to help. But today is just one of those days. After another hour of listening to MIC Drop on repeat, you finally decide to shut it down for the night. Your eyes burn from staring at your laptop for so long, and you’re actually very hungry. You quietly open your door and peek out the hall to see if anyone is still awake. You don’t hear nor see any movement, so you tip-toe into the kitchen to make yourself something.

You were expecting someone to come out and see who’s using the microwave so late at night, but surprisingly, nobody does. It disappoints you, but also relieves you. You can eat your bagel bites in peace without having to have an awkward silence with whoever’d be in the room with you. You hop up on the counter, crossing your legs and silently chewing on your doughy snack. With your mind so full of racing thoughts and your head bent down, you don’t even notice another presence in the room until you’re on your last bite.

“God, Tony, don’t scare me like that,” you scold quietly. He stands there with his hands in his pockets, staring solemnly at you. He’s of course noticed your slackened behaviour ever since then, but he’s been too distracted by his own problems to do something about yours. But seeing you sitting there looking lonely and on the verge of a breakdown spurs him into action.

“Come with me, champ,” he says, extending his arm out. Looking up at him, you see the softness in his eyes and take the chance to have some interaction. You put your plate down and get off the counter to follow him to his lab. It looks the same any other time you’ve visited it, so what he’s going to show you must be stowed away. He grabs a remote from a table and presses a button.

“Since you lost your old suit, I’ve been working on a new one,” he says, watching the case lower from the ceiling. “It’s not much, but I wanted you to see it.”

With arms crossed you take a step forward to look closer at it. The design is better than the first one, but the material is the same. He even has the mask, gloves, and boots to go with it. You smile softly as you rub your fingers on the sleeve.

“It’s great,” you say, voice small. “Thanks.”

“You don’t have to wear it right away,” Tony says. “It’s ready, but only when you are.”

You stop feeling the fabric to glance at him. You appreciate these moments that Tony has; it reminds you that he cares, showing it in his own way.

“Thank you, Tony,” you say again. You go back to admiring your new suit, taking the time to drink it all in. It looks incredibly comfy, and you do want to put it on, but tonight’s not that night. Tomorrow, maybe.

“You didn’t–“

“Yes, I did.”

He cuts you off before you can finish. You close your mouth and smile, knowing that he’s the only one that’d be willing to make you something like this.

“I’ll take it out for a test run some other time,” you say, stepping away. “It’ll help get me back into the groove. But not today.”

“Take all the time you need,” he says.

“I will. Thanks.”

You leave without glancing back at him once and go back upstairs. You intended on going back to your room, but you unintentionally run into Steve.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

“’S no problem,” he says. He gently grabs your arm when you’re about to walk around him. “_______? Can we talk for a minute?”

You were going to tell him no, that you just wanted to go to sleep, but one look in his eyes tells you otherwise. He seems like he has something on his mind and wants to get it off his chest. Sighing, you nod.

“Alright.”

He smiles slightly, and leads you back into the living room. It’s dimly lit, and it’s incredibly quiet. You both sit down on the couch. You cross your legs and set your hands in your lap. You look at Steve expectantly, but brace yourself for the worst. Steve tries to find his words, because he doesn’t want to mess this up or suffocate you. He didn’t practice this beforehand, so he’ll have to wing it.

“I know you’ve heard this a thousand times before,” he begins, “but we’re here for you, ya know?”

You sigh, and resist the urge to roll your eyes. You’d never roll your eyes at Steve.

“I know the whole spiel, Steve,” you say, not wanting to hear it again. “I will. I promise I will say something. I’ve already written it down in my journal. It’s easier that way. I just haven’t been ready to speak to any of you about it. Not like any of _you_ tell _me_ about your problems, so sometimes I figure, why say anything at all? Why am _I_ the only one that needs help? You guys are just as mentally unstable as I am. So why is everyone talking about _me_ , huh?”

Steve didn’t know what to expect, but he wasn’t expecting _that_. You’re not wrong, though. Nobody wants to talk about their own emotions, so they pin it on the youngest and last one joined because they’re the easiest to worry about. Steve is sure you don’t appreciate the hypocrisy.

“You’re right,” he agrees. He smiles at your look of surprise. “You’re right. It’s not fair that you’re the only one who’s being pressured to talk about what happened to you. We’ve all been through some terrible things, and we’ve bottled it all up.”

“Quid pro quo?” you suggest.

Steve thins his mouth into a tight line, and nods once. You nod along, and clear your throat.

“Since you came to me, I’ll go first,” you say.

“Alright.”

You play with your sweater sleeve as you try to think of where to start. There’s too many to count, so you begin with the first thing that pops into your head. You avoid Steve’s gaze to make it easier on yourself to explain.

“When I woke up after being kidnapped, being strapped to that table, I… I was terrified, as anyone would be. My heart was racing, I was thinking about what he’d do to me, what he was doing to Maeve. I was afraid of anything and everything in that room. The pain was excruciating. I thought it’d be able to do something for myself, like break free of my restraints by melting them somehow, but he had me. Frozen wrists and ankles. I wasn’t going anywhere. I felt dizzy and sick and exhausted. I just… I wanted to die, Steve. God, I just wanted it to be over. I didn’t want to feel anymore, to think anymore.”

You bite your lip and quickly glance at him before continuing.

“But I had to pull through. No matter how much I wanted it to end, I needed to make sure that Maeve was alive. I couldn’t live with myself if she ended up dying because of me. I wouldn’t be able to handle the burden. I’d rather it me be, just like everyone else. Rather you than someone you love because you know they don’t deserve it. Anyway… I–even though I say that, I was relieved when you guys found me. Because who wants to die? Who’s not terrified of dying? I sure as hell am. I woke up, and there you guys were. All huddled together and on the verge of arguing. I was so grateful to see all of your faces again, even if just for a minute. We got to the top floor and… that’s when I panicked the most.”

Tears well up in your eyes the more you think about it. You’ve never been more petrified in your life.

“The explosion separated us. I got pinned down by a bar in my shoulder. I couldn’t move. I felt like going back under. I could barely stay awake, let alone move. I was so scared. I–“

You stop yourself when you see Bucky appear from behind the hallway. Steve looks over his shoulder, and offers Bucky a small smile. Bucky starts, not sure what to do now. He feels like he’s walked in on something that he had no business in hearing. He turns to the side.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I’ll just–“

“No.”

Your voice stops him from walking away. The tears fall from your eyes as you pat the seat beside you. He’s unsure at first, since Steve is already here, but he silently obeys and crosses the living room to sit down beside you. It takes a second to find your words again.

“Steve wanted me to talk about what happened,” you say, your eyes trained on the floor. “So, I’ve been telling him. Bit by bit. You deserve to hear this too. I know you’ve been worried and I’ve told you that I’m fine and all, but I’m not. You know I’m not. Steve knows I’m not. Hell, everyone knows I’m not. I just didn’t want to talk about it because I never have before. But you deserve to know now. Better now than later when I’m even more unwilling.”

Bucky gently squeezes your knee in understanding and gives you a solemn smile when you look up at him.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispers. You nod once, then wipe your face before finding your place again.

“When I told you, Steve, and Sam to leave after we got separated, I was scared to death. I didn’t want to die, but your lives were worth more than mine. I had to make sure you guys got out first before I did.”

_“James Buchanan fucking Barnes!” you screamed. “Don’t give me that shit! Go! When I get out, I’m gonna punch you! Now fucking go!”_

_Once you thought they had left on their own, you began crying. You were crying hard and definitely loud enough for them to hear, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was getting out of there alive. But you didn’t know if you’d be able to make it._

_You could see the light at the entrance. Despite all the pain and despair you felt, you did everything you could to get to it. You crawled, staggered, and limped to the front door, but it felt like it was still a hundred miles away. Your heart was racing, and your body was on fire. Literally. As you looked down at your hands, you realized that you had been unconsciously using your power. But you ignored that as you kept working towards your goal._

_The closer you thought you got, the hotter you became. You choked on the smoke and cried out in pain and frustration. You just wanted to get out of there already. But you didn’t know if you’d make it._

_“Come on,” you said to yourself. “Keep going. Get up. You’re fine. Just get the hell out of here. There may be a rod in your shoulder but there’ll be a lot more if you don’t get a fucking move on.”_

_Your tears left a clean trail down your cheeks, the dirt and grime rolling away. You tripped over a piece of debris, and let out a horrifying, chilling scream. You didn’t want to die. You wanted to live. You wanted to see everyone again. You couldn’t go out like this. You couldn’t let your death be their responsibility. This was your decision. You let Sam, Steve, and Bucky leave before you. Better one than four deaths. And definitely, better you than them._

_You rose your head, your vision blurry as you looked around you. You saw no clear path to get to the entrance. You only saw destruction, fear, and inevitability. You weren’t getting out of there._

_“No. No. No no no no no.”_

_You finally succumbed to your fear and realization. From somewhere in the room, you could hear slight ticking. That didn’t help you at all, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to make it out of there alive. Kneeling on the cement floor, you hung your head and clasped your hands together. This was it for you. Your life was better than most, but other than that, you lived a pretty mundane life. You met some great people, and shared amazing memories. Ones that you’ll never be able to experience again._

_As you waited for the final explosion, you didn’t realize that fire had engulfed your entire body. All you felt was a sense of warmth. You heard a terrible, awesome booming sound, and as you rose your head, the warehouse was tearing itself apart in front of you. But you were not caught in the crossfire._

_Looking left and right, you saw how fiery the flames were and how harsh the debris was whipping around the place. But neither of them got to you. You were encased by a bright, hot, astonishing shield of fire. You reached your arm out, but only so far. A stream of fire wrapped itself around your arm and gently pulled it back. As you glanced down, you saw that your entire body was on fire. But you felt none of it. It didn’t hurt at all. And neither did your shoulder. You watched as it slowly began to melt away and out of your body. You’ve never felt so elated before. You weren’t being burned alive. You were being saved._

“After that, I was able to walk out on my own. It gave me the strength I needed. Long enough to plunge my hand through his chest and kill him.”

There’s a small silence between the three of you. You have nothing left to say, and neither Bucky nor Steve want to say the wrong thing. In all honesty, nothing they say could irritate you at the moment. But since neither of them speak up, you do it for them.

“Sooo, yeah. There’s nothing else to say. He kicked my ass, and I killed him. It doesn’t fill the gaping void in my chest, but at least he won’t be able to hurt anyone else. Well. _Him_ , at least. The same can’t be said for his men.”

You heave a big sigh, and wipe your eyes from any built-up tears. You’re about to get up, bringing your leg to the floor, but Steve places his hand over yours. You sit cross-legged again and stare at him. He’s trying to find the right words.

“I’m sorry, _______,” he says. “I know that saying sorry is just a filler response when you don’t know what to say, but sometimes, it’s the only thing we can say. What we can offer. I’m glad that you told me. Told us. Does it… do you feel any better at all?”

“Yes,” you respond truthfully. “I _know_ that talking about it makes me feel better afterwards, but I just _hate_ talking about it, y’know? Anyway… for now, I feel okay.”

Steve smiles that familiar, lop-sided smile that you love. He squeezes your hand and glances over at Bucky. His eyes are transfixed on you. He didn’t know you were going through so much pain. He had a faint idea, but actually listening to you, to your voice cracks and what went through your mind when you thought you were going to die? It shatters his heart with a thousand knives. He never truly knows what you’re going through unless you speak about it; and talking about your problems and mental state isn’t exactly a trait you seem to have. Nevertheless, he’s glad he got to hear it from you and not while someone else was talking freely about it.

“I don’t know exactly how hold up my end of the deal right now, but…” Steve pauses to give you a little smirk. “I’m going to take you somewhere tomorrow.”

“Yeah? Where?”

“It’s a surprise. I think you’re going to like it.”

“Hmm. Well. As long as it doesn’t involve some sort of mental training or anything of the sort, then I’m game. I’ll go.”

“Great. I’ll wake you in the morning.”

Steve gets up then, gives your hair a ruffle, nods at Bucky, and heads to bed. It makes you start a little, since it was a sort of abrupt way for him to end his night. You click your tongue and face Bucky.

“He seemed very satisfied with himself,” you comment. “Almost _too_ satisfied.”

“He’s unpredictable at times,” Bucky says. “Always has been.”

“I guess so,” you agree. A silence ensues, and you nervously pick your nails. It’s still tense after having a heavy and serious conversation about near death experiences. But there’s nothing left to say. Avoiding eye contact, you stand up.

“Well, I should get to bed,” you say. “Steve will wake me up at the crack of dawn, I’m sure. I need to be prepared for that. Goodnight, Bucky.”

Bucky gets up as soon as you turn your back. He gently spins you around and envelopes you in a comforting hug. One you didn’t know you desperately needed at the moment. At first you don’t react, just reveling in his warmth. But you soon raise your arms to wrap around his chest, clinging to him. He strokes your hair and sways you side to side. His motions are tender enough to make you tear up again, and hold onto him tighter. He quietly shushes you when he hears how badly you want to cry again. You can’t help it, though. Your throat closes up, and your eyes sting. You want to get it over with swiftly so you can get back to bed. Also because you don’t want to cry in front of him, either. Crying in general upsets you, but when it’s in front of your beloved, it’s even worse.

You sniffle loudly, and pull away to use the arm of your hoodie to rid your face of the tears.

“I’m fine,” you tell him. “I’m okay. It just–I didn’t know how much I needed that.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to be ashamed of crying, _______. I’m not here to tell you how much of a crybaby you are or tell you shut the hell up. I’m here for _you_ , and whatever you need. Okay?”

You gaze up at him. He’s giving you a small smile, which prompts you to give him one in return, albeit smaller than his. You nod.

“Okay.” You clear your throat and rub your nose with the end of your sleeve. You lean forward to give him a hug of your own. “Thank you, Bucky.”

“Anytime.” He lifts your chin to give you a kiss goodnight. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Mm. G’nite.”

And with that, you tip-toe back to your room, quietly closing the door and flopping into bed. You don’t have the slightest clue about what Steve has in store for you tomorrow, but you hope to god it’s something that will permanently get your mind off things.

* * *

Turns out, you didn’t have as much of a good sleep that you needed. You woke up twice, sweating, shaking, and crying. The nightmares were especially awful last night, and there was nothing you could do about it. You probably got around four or five hours of sleep during the night. So when Steve wakes you up around noon, you feel like death. Your eyes are red and tired, your body heavy and numb. You don’t want to move an inch. Luckily for you, Steve helps you with that. He’s pretty smiley today, you notice, as he pulls your body upright and plants your feet on the floor. He tosses a shirt and a pair of pants at your face and waits for you in the hallway. Surprisingly, his behaviour is enough to motivate you to get out of bed and get dressed for whatever he has planned for you.

You brush your hair and teeth before grabbing your coat to join Steve in the garage. You take one of the Escalades, and you jokingly ask him about his motorcycle. He just gives you a warm smile and tells you that it won’t be needed today. You settle down in your seat, full of suspicion and curiosity. Wherever he’s taking you, you hope you can get a small nap in. You lean your head against the window and close your eyes, and pray that you’ll be more energized when you wake up again.

When you do wake up again, you have no idea where you are. You rub your eyes and yawn tiredly, staring at the old brick building in front of you.

“Where are we?”

“You’ll see.”

Steve doesn’t want to give any spoilers about today, apparently. Whatever it is, he seems quite ecstatic to be here. You lob yourself out of the car and follow him inside. You notice immediately that there’s young people helping the elderly walk around, eat, and cut their hair. The woman at the front desk recognizes Steve and gestures for him to go upstairs.

_Is this a retirement home?_

You follow silently behind him, wondering why the hell you’re here. Who would Steve know? Some distant relative? You’re about to open your mouth to question him when he opens the door, and you stop dead in your tracks. Your breath hitches, and your chest tightens.

Laying in a bed in the middle of the room, is none other than Peggy Carter, one of the most prominent agents of the Strategic Scientific Reserve, or SSR. You didn’t know she was still alive. You step into the room, and you don’t hear Steve speak with her. Your shock overwhelms you, attempting to process this. You didn’t think you’d ever been in the same room as her, let alone meet her. Your eyes begin to pool with tears at the realization that you’re in the presence of one of the most important women in the world. You swallow thickly, and dart your eyes over to Steve. He’s smiling at you, and holding out his hand. Slowly, you make your way over, and take Steve’s place beside Peggy’s bed. Peggy smiles kindly at you, and raises a hand to wipe your falling tears.

“Why are you crying, child?” she asks.

You lose your voice, just basking in the moment. Of course you’ve thought about her sometimes whenever you looked at Steve, and wondered what his life would’ve been like if he didn’t go in the ice. You wondered what happened to her, and what her life was like after Steve. You’ve read about her accomplishments and achievements throughout her career, but no such information compares to seeing her in the flesh. All of those facts were thrown out the window the second you laid eyes on her. She still looks beautiful, even at the tender age of 93. You finally muster up a smile yourself, despite your lip quivering.

“I just–” you begin, your voice cracking. You swallow once more before trying again. “Just… you’re here. You’re–you’re you. I can’t believe that I’m actually meeting you and–and speaking with you.” You sniffle and bite your lip, trying to calm down, but one does not _not_ simply have a breakdown in front of Peggy Carter. Not when you know what she represents and how much of an inspiration she was, and still is.

“That is no reason to cry,” she laughs, still wiping away your tears. “I’m just an old woman now, dear.”

“It doesn’t take away who you are,” you say. “I’ve never met such an influential person in my entire life. And trust me, I’ve known a handful of those for a few months now, but none of them compare to you. None of them even come _close_ to you. No offense, Steve.”

“None taken,” he chuckles.

“Steve has told me some wonderful things about you, miss _______,” Peggy says. “He’s a very lucky man to have someone like you around.”

_She must not know about Bucky. Best to keep it that way._

“I didn’t know that Steve liked to gossip behind my back,” you joke, finally pulling yourself together. You hold her hand in both of yours.

“Oh, he’s quite the chatty man,” she grins. “Never could keep his lips in a tight line when it mattered.”

“Come ooon,” Steve whines, laughing a bit to himself. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“How long can you keep a secret, Steve?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder. Before he can answer, you pile onto the list. “Or stop yourself from gossiping? Orrr from talking smack about me? Or–“

“I don’t talk smack,” he defends.

“I know you don’t,” you agree. “Because you’re _so_ polite.”

The three of you continue to talk and laugh, and occasionally share memories. Steve was right. You’re _definitely_ enjoying this day. It’s just what you needed. To be able to meet someone that’s actually made a difference in the world for the better is an emotional thing. She was one of the strongest pillars of the SSR and S.H.I.E.L.D. Nothing is more monumental than meeting an imperative political figure like her. But with time comes deterioration. Peggy’s Alzheimer’s kicks in, and she has a moment of realization as she recognizes Steve again like she’s seeing him for the first time.

“Steve?” she whispers.

“Yeah.”

“You’re alive! You… you came, you came back!”

“Yeah, Peggy.”

Steve smiles softly as tears well up in her eyes. You keep quiet and watch on as they have a private moment together.

“It’s been so long. So long.”

“Well I couldn’t leave my best girl. Not when she owes me a dance.”

Tears stream down your cheeks again, and you quickly wipe them away. You didn’t expect to witness two former flames rekindle and reconnect after everything that’s happened. It warms your heart. But soon after, they’re interrupted by Peggy’s nurse, saying that Peggy needs to take her medication and continue her daily routine. Steve reluctantly stands up, and kisses the back of her hand as he smiles down at her.

“I’ll see you soon again, okay?”

“It’s a date.”

Steve joins you at the door, waiting to leave. You didn’t think she’d remember you either after her episode, and her reply to your goodbye confirms it.

“It was nice meeting you, Peggy.”

Peggy’s eyebrows furrow together as she gives you a once-over. Her eyes squint as she tries to wrack her brain to remember if she’s ever seen you before. “Oh, my apologies dear. I do not believe we’ve met. Who are you?” You smile kindly.

“My name is _______. I’m a friend of Steve’s.”

“Oh, _______. What a lovely name. I’m Peggy Carter.”

“I kn–I mean. Thank you, Peggy. It was nice meeting you. We’ll let you rest now.”

“Don’t be a stranger!”

“We won’t.”

And with that, you and Steve leave. You take in a large breath of air when you walk back outside. The smell of dead autumn leaves and brisk, chilly air fills your nostrils, comforting you fully. Though is still sends a shiver through your body. Despite the colder, darker months triggering your seasonal depression, seeing the leaves change colour and fall from their branches is too beautiful to focus on how down you feel. You approach Steve with a smile and give him a hug.

“Thank you for this,” you say. “It was really great.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiles, patting your head. “I hadn’t visited her in a while, and I knew that someone like you would want to have the chance to meet her.”

“Someone like me?”

“Yeah. You know. Strong, humble, thoughtful, kind. I thought you would click well with her.”

“Well… you thought very right. Thanks. Again.”

“No problem, _______. Come on. Let’s get something to eat.”

Steve treats you all day, which is something that you don’t experience often. Seldom your friends would pay for a whole tab or bill, but that was every once in a blue moon. The same can be said for Steve, but you don’t mind. He shouldn’t even be alive, so he gets a free pass. You’ve never spent a full day with just him before, and it’s kind of refreshing. After last night, being with Steve for hours at a time is exactly what you needed. And you’re glad that he thought of it first.

Steve especially wore you out, because when you arrive back at the compound, you’re ready to just fall into bed and go to sleep. You had another nap on the drive home, but it wasn’t too comfortable and definitely not refreshing enough. As soon as you arrive on the main floor, you go straight to your bedroom and flop onto your bed. You groan in pleasure from how much better you feel. You close your eyes, not bothering to change out of your clothes. Falling asleep right on the spot sounds fantastic, but someone ruins your plan by knocking on your door.

“I swear to god, unless you have a damn good reason to come in here, I’ll be kicking your ass out.”

“Well it’s a good thing that I have a valid explanation.”

You raise your head as soon as you hear Bucky’s voice. Your vision is slightly blurry when you turn your head to glance at him in your doorway. He’s about to open his mouth again, but you shush him quickly. You extend your arm and wave your hand, signaling him to come into bed with you. He does so with a smile, wrapping his arm around you.

“Long day?”

“Yeah. It was good, though. Steve kept me very occupied.”

“I’m surprised he can be so energetic sometimes. Mostly he’s–“

“We should get away.”

Bucky stops mid-sentence when you interrupt him. He raises a brow at you, wondering where you got this sudden idea from.

“What’re you talking about?”

“I need a change of pace. New scenery. New people. New food. Something different and exciting. Like Europe or Asia. I’ve been here for almost a year now. It’s been great, don’t get me wrong, but…”

“You just want to shake things up?”

“Yeah. And I was hoping you would come with me.”

His silence is deafening. You know the repercussions and dangers of bringing him overseas. But you have faith in both him, and the people helping to hide and protect him. Bucky has had plenty of experience shielding himself from the public eye. Along with his skills and rather intimidating intelligence, he can do just fine on his own in another country. Even more so with you there with him. But that’s one of the dangers: if you’re spotted with him and he’s recognized, it’s a recipe for disaster. Nothing would ever be the same for the first, second, and third parties. You don’t even want to think about what would happen. However, he remained undiscovered for a few years before Steve and Sam found him. He’s managed by himself once before, and he’s certainly capable of doing it again.

Despite the obvious cons to this little vacation, there are also some pros.

Bucky needs this as much as you. He’s been living at the compound almost as much as you have, and he’s not even allowed to go outside without supervision. There’s no doubt that he wants to leave the compound for a few weeks to expand his horizons and enjoy life for once. You’re definitely willing to give it to him; it’s just everyone else that might not be so forgiving if something were to go wrong on your endeavours.

This just isn’t about you. It’s about him as well. You stroke his face with your fingers in comfort as you see the gears cranking around in his head. It’s a tough decision for someone in his position to make, and you don’t expect an answer right away. For now, at least, you hope he’ll think about it.

“You don’t need to tell me right now,” you say. “Sleep on it. I don’t plan on going tomorrow or anything so you have–“

“I’ll go.”

You close your mouth, smiling softly at him. You pull the covers over his body, and shuffle closer to him, nestling yourself in his chest.

“It’ll be okay. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Neither will I.”

He takes your hand in his, turning your wrist to look at the fading, jagged scars. You had finished with your whirlpool therapy to get rid of them in a healthy, albeit lengthy way. But it was worth it. They’re hardly visible now; just some thin white lines on your skin. The emotional scars are still as prominent as ever, but they’re weaker when you’re around everyone else. They make you feel better everyday. A professional would be more suitable, of course. But who has the time for that? No one apparently. Besides. You’ll be too preoccupied with Bucky in another country to worry about it.

Still. It’d be nice to be mentally stable.

“Now the only trouble will be convincing everyone to let us go.”

“Or we could go without telling them.”

You blink in surprise. You didn’t think Bucky would bring that up. If anything you’d thought that one, he’d take more time to consider the whole situation about going, and two, to just up and leave without telling anyone. Who are you even talking to?

“That should play out nicely,” you comment, smacking your lips. “Tony’s gonna have a whole barn, Steve’s gonna have a heart attack, and who knows what the hell Sam’s gonna do.”

“I think he’ll be glad that I’m gone.”

“Oh. I was talking about me. I know he’ll be a little satisfied about you missing. I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

Bucky shoves you playfully and you shove him right back. Now that everything has been decided, you can figure out the finer details later. Like money, transportation, living situation and the like. For now, it’s time for a (hopefully) good night’s rest.

“Mmm. G’nite, Bucky.”

“Not yet.”

“What? Why?”

“You gotta change.”

“I don’t wanna move…”

“I got it.”

He drags his hands down your back, and up under the hem of your shirt. He lazily unhooks your bra with his one hand and tosses it onto the floor. He yawns tiredly when he tugs on your jeans, so you help him out there. You unbutton them and let him drag them down your legs to join your undergarment on the floor as well. Then he pulls you to his chest again, kissing your forehead.

“Goodnight, _______.”

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

* * *

It’s been six months since you and Bucky took a break from the world and flew over to Romania.

All the deciding factors got settled within two weeks. Which country to go to, where to get money from, where to shop, transportation, and so on. You two were very secretive from the rest of the team. Especially Tony. He’d definitely be against it the most, which is why neither of you told him. In fact, neither of you told anyone about your vacation. Bucky learned to be resourceful and improvise when it mattered most. And whatever he thought of to get you guys out of there without suspicion, you were down for. He’s lived in Romania before, so going back made it easier for him to adjust.

But you didn’t expect the plan to work out so easily.

Long story short, Bucky smuggled you and himself into Europe with little to no trouble at all. He was scary good at sweet-talking people, even if the two of you looked like the shadiest hitchhikers in the surrounding area. You had some help from F.R.I.D.A.Y. to transfer and convert money into your account, along with shielding yours and Bucky’s faces from security cameras from multiple servers. Even though the AI is of Tony’s making, she has a mind of her own. And her own attachments, and decides who she’s willing to help.

After that, finding a remote place to stay was easy enough. Cheap, kind of run down, perfect for hiding. You knew what you were getting into when you invited Bucky along. You didn’t dive in head-first expecting to stay in luxury rentals and eat at high-end restaurants. Bucky can do just fine in concealing himself from the world; you, on the other hand, are not so inconspicuous. Nevertheless, you were willing to adapt to a secretive life for a while if it meant that Bucky could experience the world without having to kill someone.

You stole (brought, actually, since it was made for you) the new and improved suit that Tony had prepared for you after the other one got lost in the warehouse explosion. You intended to try it out a few days after Tony showed it to you, but you didn’t have enough time. You hope that if and when you need to wear it, it’ll function without any problems. The last thing you and Bucky need is a confrontation with the local authorities because some hostile situation that has nothing to do with you was brought to light and you decided to help. Keeping the public eye away from you is what’s best for both of your safeties.

At the present moment, you’re out and about in the farmers market at sunset, picking up some things for dinner. Learning the basics of Romanian was easy enough, but you haven’t gotten much further than that. Bucky taught you just enough to communicate with others when needed, but you only speak when spoken to. You do your daily routine, and do not make any unexpected pit stops along the way back to the apartment. It’s best to not break out of pattern, since you’re still not quite convinced that everything will turn out as nicely as you wished it to be. But for now, you two are safe, as far as you’re concerned. And you hope it’ll stay that way.

You make it back to the apartment at the same time, saying hello to your elderly neighbor Maria along the way.

“Bună seara, Maria. Ce mai faci?”

_Good evening, Maria. How are you?_

“Sunt bine, mulțumesc. Şi tu?”

_I’m fine, thanks. And you?_

“Bine. Ce e nou?”

_Good. What’s new?_

“Nimic important. Mâncând în?”

_Nothing much. Eating in?_

“Da. Încercăm ceva nou.”

_Yes. We’re trying something new._

“Îmi place băiatul ăla. El este dulce.”

_I like that boy. He’s sweet._

“Da, el este.”

_Yes, he is._

You find yourself smiling for a second, thinking of the aspects of Bucky that makes him sweet: his smile, his hugs, his kindness, his overwhelming sense of comfort. You’re caught in your own thoughts about him before Maria pulls you back.

“_______? _______?”

You blink at her and smile sheepishly.

“Scuze, scuze. Sunt bine. Ne vedem mai târziu, Maria.”

_Sorry, sorry. I’m okay. See you later, Maria._

“Bine. Noapte bună, _______.”

_Okay. Good night, _______.”_

You both enter your own respective apartments, your small talk done for today. You can hear the shower running as you walk through the door. You kick off your shoes and set the bag of groceries down on the kitchen counter and start putting them away, only leaving the dinner ingredients to be prepped. Tonight will be a simple plate of nachos. You set a pan on the cook top and turn it on high, then roll the hamburger out of its package. It sizzles in the pan while you chop up the peppers and onions, and grate the cheese. Bucky comes out from the bathroom, towel around his waist, and steam emerging from behind him.

“Smells good,” he comments, grabbing some clothes from the makeshift shelving across the wall.

“Nachos,” you reply, cutting up the hamburger with a spatula. “Nice and easy. Be ready in no time. Once the hamburger cooks, obviously.”

“Can’t wait.”

He dresses himself silently, with you cooking in the same fashion. The silence is familiar and common, not at all awkward or stiffly anymore. You two moved way past that stage a year ago. You turn your head to look out the window, but all you see is dusty newspaper covering the glass. Even though you know what you’ll see, you can’t break the habit. Bucharest is a beautiful city, but you can’t risk having dangerous eyes wander into your living space with Bucky. Covering the windows isn’t exactly suspicious, since several other tenants have done the same thing for their own reasons. Some of them are drug addicts and others working to get by. Your reason, of course, is to shield the most dangerous fugitive in the world. Well. He may be a fugitive, but he’s only dangerous when he wants to be. Seeing Bucky sitting in a pair of sweats and eating a chocolate bar isn’t exactly the perfect image of an ex-assassin. But it is what it is.

_Your_ life in this situation hasn’t been completely horrible. You go out everyday and see the city, stopping only to watch any street performers, view some art, go to the farmers market, and occasionally sit on the roof to watch the lights and people come to life at night. You’ve done a lot of people-watching since making the trip to Bucharest. You see some pretty interesting things, and learn how to read people’s body language a lot more closely. Well, from a distance anyway. Natasha taught you the basics before getting into detail. Being able to tell what someone is _really_ feeling by just a glimpse at their hands or legs is a game changer in this line of work. If you can call it that.

Also, not being able to go on the internet everyday is probably the biggest hurdle you’ve had to overcome. Burner cells and being inconspicuous has become your very best friend.

You turn off the burner and open the bag of Tostitos to plate them, sprinkling on the meat, vegetables, and cheese before broiling them in the oven. You wait a few minutes before taking them out and placing the tray on a wooden chopping board and bringing it over to Bucky. You sit cross-legged on the bed and set them in front of you.

“Dinner is served.”

He smiles and gives you a chuckle before eating the biggest chip on the plate. He chews while staring at you, savouring it before swallowing.

“Best nachos I’ve ever had.”

“No need to flatter _me_ , Barnes. I know I’m a mediocre chef.”

You two share a laugh, and finish your dinner in silence. You brush the stray crumbs from the bed and get up to place the pan in the sink. You wash your hands and quickly change into some sweats and tank before rejoining Bucky. You flop down beside him, and he instantly wraps his arm around you. You shiver at the cold touch of the metal, but relax easily into him.

“No people watching tonight?” he asks you.

“Nope,” you reply. “I got my fill of spying on strangers today. Besides, all I see now are a bunch of smokers doing some shady shit at night. It’s not as enjoyable as the ones who like to make a scene before jumping in the river.”

“You’ve developed a taste for the theatrics since coming here,” he teases.

“I’ve always had a taste for it. Haven’t you been paying attention for the past year?”

“I have. Just not as much to see you as someone who would strip naked and go swimming in a public fountain.”

“That’s another kind of theatrics, Bucky. I’m talking about blowing up buildings and walking away while it explodes in the background.”

“Ah, of course, of course. You’d be an expert in that one, I assume.”

“Obviously. Can’t have anybody showing me up when I’m an embodiment of firepower. That’d just be insulting.”

“No one can hold a candle to you, _______.”

“Tch. No one can hold a _sparkler_ to me, let alone real fire.”

You can feel Bucky’s chuckle berate through his chest into your ear. You breathe him in, and he smells exactly how he always does: a mix of oranges and soap. You don’t know where he goes some days when he’s by himself, but he always comes back smelling like a citrus fruit. And you love it. You settle against his side and sigh tiredly.

“Wanna go out tomorrow?” you ask sleepily.

His silence usually indicates a soft no. He doesn’t like the idea of too many eyes watching him with you. He’s equally concerned about himself and you, but if it came down to a regretful situation, he’d throw himself under the bus without blinking before letting you take the fall. Anything bad that would happen would be his fault, never yours.

“I’m not sure,” comes his reply. “It would just… look–“

“Suspicious?” you finish.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

“Well. Maybe if you didn’t look like the shaddiest hobo in Romania it wouldn’t be much of a problem.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know. Like, maybe not wear so many layers? You’re big enough, Bucky. No need to make yourself look any more intimidating. Cut your hair, too. And shave. Act like you’re not in hiding. They’re little things that can make a big difference.”

“Why do I feel like I’ve heard this before?”

“Hmm? You probably have. From me. Better than having an annoying synthetic on your face 24/7, don’t you think?”

“Point taken. But I’m still not sure if I want to take the risk.”

“It’s alright. We can go out by ourselves in daily intervals like we’ve been doing. It’s your turn tomorrow. Don’t forget the chocolate.”

“How could I forget? You remind me every time.”

“And every time, you come back with it.”

He kisses the top of your head as an indication to end the conversation. You close your eyes, and reach around for his free hand to kiss his fingers.

“Goodnight, love,” you whisper.

“Goodnight, _______,” he says.

_Tomorrow will be fine_ , you think, as you drift off to sleep. Bucky hasn’t given anyone the impression that he’s dangerous. He may look a little out of the ordinary, but he’s done a good job so far. It’s been six months with no incidents, and you both want to keep that record going. Tomorrow will simply be another day of roaming around the streets, observing and living. Nothing can, nor will, go wrong.

* * *

Of course, all good things must come to an end.

A few weeks later, tragedy strikes Nigeria. You’re sitting in a small diner when you see the TV broadcast an incident in Lagos with Wanda’s and Steve’s faces shown in the interlude. You ask an employee to turn it up, and you listen in shock as the reporter reveals what’s happened.

“11 Wakandans were among those killed during a confrontation between the Avengers and a group of mercenaries in Lagos, Nigeria. The traditionally reclusive Wakandans were on an outreach mission in Lagos when the attack occurred.”

The feed then cuts to King T’Challa making a statement.

“Our people’s blood is spilled on foreign soil,” he says. “Not only because of the actions of criminals, but by the indifference of those pledged to stop them. Victory at the expense of the innocent, is no victory at all.”

You shake your head in disbelief as you watch the video footage captured on-site. You have no idea what happened, but you know that nothing was Wanda’s fault, no matter how hard everyone else tries to pin it on her. You leave your change on the table and walk out the door.

You shove your hands in your pockets and make your way back to the apartment. There’s no reason really in telling Bucky about it; he’s most likely heard the news already. But you feel that it still needs to be talked about. You skip up the steps and swing open the door, but he’s not there.

“Bucky?” you call. But there’s no answer. However, there’s a small note laying on the kitchen counter in his handwriting.

_“I went out. Don’t know when I’ll be back. I love you.”_

You set the note back down and run a hand through your hair. He went out? What the hell does that even mean? It’s not even his turn to be out, anyway. He must have a good reason, though. Otherwise he wouldn’t have up and left.

“He can handle himself.” You say it out-loud to remind yourself that Bucky’s more than capable of being on his own. “He’s been in worse situations. Whatever he’s doing, he can handle it. Just… believe in him.”

The all-too-true thought doesn’t stop your heart from racing, however. Too many unfathomable situations he could be in creep into the crevices of your mind, and you will them away. Bucky is not throwing himself to the wolves, here. He’s probably just out and about, needing some time alone. He’s done it before, and he can do it again. He doesn’t owe you an explanation at all.

But he does always tell you when and where he needs time alone.

Sighing, you decide to just go back out. At least you can divert from your original schedule this time. Nothing out of the ordinary. A little window-shopping, going to the market, a museum, walking along the river. Just normal, tourist-y things that foreigners like yourself do. Maybe even go out for dinner if Bucky isn’t back by then. Even though you switch burner cells from time to time, you don’t think you’ll need to contact Bucky tonight. He’s a big boy.

He can take care of himself.

* * *

The first night Bucky didn’t come back, you brushed it off. You had your small heart attack when he didn’t return. It was fine. The second night was a little scarier. Two days gone without one little sign that he was okay? It really rubbed you the wrong way. The third day he was gone? You had half a mind to contact Steve or Tony to search for him, but instead you cried and prayed that he was alright. But he’s been gone for nearly two weeks now.

You’re losing your mind.

If he’s been involved in some sort of life-or-death situation, you would’ve heard about it on the news. But there hasn’t been a shred of information since the day he left. No one has contacted you, including him. But you didn’t expect that to happen. Before the two of you left for Romania, you left a simple note on your bed for any one of the team to find:

_“We’ll be fine.”_

It left no indication about where you were going, or why you were leaving in the first place. All the note revealed was that you were taking Bucky with you.

You hope it wasn’t a mistake to leave out the most important piece of information.

You didn’t know why he would do something as reckless as this, and not even notify you about it. Not even clue you in about what he was planning, let alone where he was going. And instead of wasting time trying to look for him, you continued on with your life in Romania. You shopped and wandered around, as per usual. Nothing suspicious.

It isn’t until a day or two later that you hear some terrible news.

As you’re sipping your Frappuccino at Starbucks in the Unirii mall, you look up and see a news coverage on the funeral of Peggy Carter. Your heart lurches in your chest as the anchor relays Peggy’s accomplishments with captions running along the bottom of the screen. You had no idea she had passed (no internet, and everything). You cover your mouth to keep people from seeing how affected you are by this. But they can still definitely see the hot tears pooling in your eyes.

You had only met her once, but it was something you’d never forget. The smile on her face when she saw Steve, the wit she still had, the beauty and bravery of her entire character; you admired her so much for what she did and who she stood for. She may be gone, but her legend will never be forgotten.

You hastily wipe away your tears and finish your drink, taking the time to calm down. You get up and throw away your cup and head to the city centre, to the Stavropoleos Monastery Church. You sit in the small outside garden space, taking a moment to honour Peggy’s memory in a proper manner. It’s a relatively quiet day in the city, despite being able to hear the faint sound of car horns from the highway. The smell of the roses makes you smile faintly, wondering if Peggy would enjoy sitting outside in a garden with Steve. Just the two of them. Talking about nothing and everything.

After an hour of paying your respects, you head back to the apartment for the remainder of the day. You contemplate on going out later, but you’re still not too sure about it. Given the circumstances, it’d be better not to. But no matter what choices you make, everything always seems to go in the complete opposite direction. They just get worse.

Unbearably worse.

A small two hours later, more devastating news hits the airwaves. Apparently, Bucky Barnes has bombed the UN building in Vienna during the signing of the Sokovia Accords. You listen in horror over the radio as the host gives a statement.

“More than seventy people have been injured, and at least twelve are dead. Officials have released a video of a suspect who they have identified as James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier. The infamous HYDRA agent, linked to numerous acts of terrorism and political assassinations.”

Without thinking, you get up and put on your suit, covering it with your regular clothes, then stride out of the apartment, intending to get away as far as possible from this place. If they had eyes on him, then he–wait. No. No. He couldn’t have done this. He did not spend two weeks away just to blow up the UN. He’s not that person anymore. And you’ve kept a close eye on him for a long time. There’s no way in hell that he would have done this. But despite your absolute faith in him, a strange feeling in your stomach tells you there’s something terribly wrong about all of this.

You don’t know what you’re going to do, but you have to do _something_. Convince someone, _anyone_ , about the truth. Bucky didn’t do this. But it would be your word against the last fifty years of his actions.

You wouldn’t stand a chance.

Nevertheless, you venture out into the city to find some answers. But before you can even get out the door, you run into someone. Your heart stops when you see who it is.

Lo and behold, Bucky stands in front of you, layers thick and hair capped. He looks a little worse for wear. He pushes you inside and closes the door.

“Bu–“

“You need to leave, _______,” he says quickly. “You need to leave right now.”

“Lea–? What’re you talking about? Where the hell have you _been_?! Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?”

He takes a sharp inhale of breath. He’s obviously heard the news about himself and the bombing in Vienna. He’s disheveled–more than usual–and looks like he’s on edge. His eyes keep flickering over to the windows, and his hands are trembling a bit. He clicks his tongue impatiently, and tries to shoo you away again.

“I’ll explain everything later,” he says hastily. “But for now, you need to get out of here. As far away as possible.”

From his tone of voice, it doesn’t sound like there’s going to be a “later” for the two of you. At least, not a happy “later” anyway. You knew that this wouldn’t last forever, but, all things considered, it was nice while it lasted. You groan in anger and disappointment, but you nod your head curtly.

“Fine. That was my initial plan. But I swear to god, if I don’t see you again, I’m going to tear this city and the next one apart to find you. Got it?”

You roughly grab the front of his shirt and pull him down for a kiss. You put as much passion and urgency into it as needed before pulling away. You keep your head down to avoid having him see how hard you’re trying to keep yourself together. The only solace you have is that he’s alive.

You slam the door shut and skip down the stairs of the complex until you’re outside and the building shrinks as you walk away. When you look behind you for the third time, you see men in what looks similar to S.W.A.T. uniforms storm the building. You slow your pace until you’ve stopped, and bite your lip. You hear a bang, then turn right back around and go running back to him.

Since you don’t have any special super soldier serum coursing through your veins, you’re a little late arriving to the party. When you’re nearing the apartment complex again, you see Bucky on the run, with Steve right behind him and an unknown assailant in a black, cat-like suit. Sam swoops through the air, tailing the three of them. There’s no way you’ll be able to catch up with them, so you quickly hijack a car and follow them. You reach into your jacket and put on your mask, just in case.

You swerve unceremoniously into an underpass just as Bucky jumps into an opening. You see him a few meters ahead, with Steve and the unknown man following suit. You weave through the traffic, trying to keep close to them as much as possible. You don’t want to lose them in this mess. You speed pass Steve as he forcibly gets his own 4x4 before catching up. You hear the familiar blaring horns of police cars as a group of them coming chasing up Steve’s tail. You focus your eyes on Bucky ahead of you.

Bucky jumps over a barrier, and you follow right behind him. He gets himself a motorbike after tearing it away from its rider, then drives off. Sam flies into the underpass, and Cat Man jumps on Bucky, but Bucky easily thwarts him off and keeps going. Cat Man grabs onto Sam, Bucky throws a bomb, and the underpass begins to collapse. Sam throws Cat Man through the rubble and he claws the back wheel, sending Bucky flying onto the pavement. You skid the car sideways and fling yourself out, sprinting at Cat Man, and shove him off of Bucky when he tries attacking him again. You remain low to the ground in front of Bucky to prevent Cat Man from coming near him, and glower at him.

You rise to your feet as the local police force surrounds the five of you. Looking up, you see War Machine, aka James Rhodes, make his entrance, raising his hands as a warning.

“Stand down, _now_.” He glances at Steve and speaks the truth. “Congratulations, Cap. You’re a criminal.”

The police move in and force Bucky to his knees, and then lay him flat on the ground. You raise your hands in the air, and let them cuff you along with everyone else. Cat Man retracts his claws and removes his mask, revealing himself to be T’Challa, the King of Wakanda. Your eyes widen in shock.

“Your Highness,” Rhodey says.

You’re all arrested on the spot. Bucky is put into a glass-walled prison pod with restraints put on his arms. The lot of you are stripped of your suits–including your mask–before being put into an SUV, with you and Sam riding in the back. You’re incredibly indignant and silent as the convoys weave their way through the city. Sam decides to break the peace.

“So. You like cats?”

“Sam.”

Steve cuts him off right there, but Sam ignores him and continues on.

“What? Dude shows up dressed like a cat and you don’t wanna know more?”

Steve sighs and casts a curious eye over to T’Challa regardless.

“Your suit… it’s vibranium?”

T’Challa narrows his eyes as he glances sideways. “The Black Panther has been the protector of Wakanda for generations. A mantle, passed from warrior to warrior. And since my father’s passing, I have also been wearing the mantle of king. So, I ask you… as both warrior, and king–how long do you think you can keep your friend safe from me? I gave him the benefit of the doubt once before. What makes you think I will give him a second chance?”

Steve is stony faced as the convoy heads underground. He looks over his shoulder at you, and you can feel his piercing gaze. But you don’t give in. You keep watching the walls of the underground pass by you in a blurring haze. Sam nudges you, and you ignore him as well.

“This is where you’ve been for the past six months?” he says, low enough for just you to hear. You give no reply. “Back where it all started? Why would you skip out on us like that, huh?”

You sigh deeply, your grip on your arms tightening to restrain yourself from throwing arms. You shake your head and grind your teeth. You don’t owe anyone any answers, no matter how much you love them. And how much they deserve one. Sam scoffs at your cold shoulder attitude, the SUV once again falling into silence.

A short time later, the convoy arrives at its destination. Some underground bunker, you assume. You watch Bucky’s pod be carried away by a forklift as you exit the SUV. He doesn’t notice you. You trail behind Steve, Sam, and T’Challa as they approach Sharon Carter and a diminutive, grey-haired man.

“What’s gonna happen to him?” Steve asks.

“Same thing that ought to happen to you,” the man replies. “Psychological evaluation and extradition.”

“This is Everett Ross,” Sharon explains. “Deputy Task Force Commander.”

“What about our lawyer?”

“Lawyer. That’s funny. See their weapons are placed in lockup. Oh, we’ll write you a receipt.”

“I better not look out the window and see anybody flying around in that,” Sam remarks.

You watch your gear get rolled away on a cart in distain. You’re shortly lost in your thoughts about Bucky and what’s going to happen to him when Everett brings you back to reality.

“I don’t believe I’m familiar with this one,” he says while looking at you. “The addition, I presume? What’ve you been doing around these parts?”

“Bite me, old man,” you retort, eyes narrowed and voice harsh.

“_______,” Steve warns. You glance at him. He’s as serious as ever, but you’re not going to exchange pleasantries with some pretentious-looking prick. Sam, on the other hand, holds back a smile.

“Charming,” replies Everett. “Another spunky one added to the mix. I won’t find any affiliation with terrorist organizations when I do my background check, will I?”

“No,” you spit. “I wouldn’t find any signs of corruption or obstruction if I were to peek into your life, would I?”

“_______, that’s enough,” Steve says, gripping your arm. Your stare is icy towards Everett as he wears an amused smile. You straighten yourself up and yank your arm away from Steve. Striding up to Everett, you tower over his small frame easily and whisper under your breath.

“You may have my suit, but I don’t need it to burn this place to the ground if you as so much look at him the wrong way. Do you understand, _Commander_?”

And with that, you begin walking away in what you presume is the correct direction. You cast one more look over your shoulder at Bucky. He catches your eye, his expression neutral. The others catch up to you and this time, you remain silent until the time comes to be bitter again.

“You’ll be provided with an office instead of a cell,” Everett says. “Now, do me a favour, stay in it?”

“I don’t intend on going anywhere,” T’Challa replies. Your heart skips a beat when you see Natasha approach from the front.

“For the record, this is what making things worse looks like,” she says to Steve. She ignores you completely, which is for the better. But when you see Tony up ahead, your hands begin to shake in anticipation. There’s no way he’s going to pass up the chance to rip your ear off for being so stupid. You try to hide behind Steve’s huge body, but you know that won’t work.

“No. Romania was not Accords-sanctioned,” you hear him say on the phone. “And, Colonel Rhodes is supervising cleanup. Consequences? You bet there’ll be consequences. Obviously you can quote me on that ‘cause I just said it. Anything else? Thank you, sir.”

“Try not to break anything while we fix this,” Natasha says.

“Secretary Ross wants you both prosecuted. Had to give him something,” Tony explains to Steve and Sam.

“I’m not getting that shield back, am I?” Steve asks, already knowing the answer.

“Technically, it’s the government’s property,” Natasha chimes in, walking away. “Wings too.”

“That’s cold,” Sam says, shaking his head.

“Warmer than jail,” Tony says. “And speaking of warmer…” He breaks through Steve and Sam to get through to you. “Have a nice vacation?”

“He didn’t do this, Tony,” you say, skipping the less-than-playful banter.

“Really?” he says, not convinced.

“Yes. I was with him the whole time.”

“You sure about that?”

You frown, hesitating to answer, because you know once you tell him about Bucky being missing for two weeks, it’ll get his gears working. Nevertheless, you can’t lie. All you can do for Bucky now is vouch for him.

“He skipped out on me for two weeks but it’s–“

“What? It’s nothing? Listen, he’s the most valuable person in the world at the moment, and–“

“Don’t you mean the most liable?”

Your pissed off tone makes Tony stop for a second. He can almost see literal fire in your eyes. He sighs and puts a hand on your shoulder, to which you quickly brush off.

“Look,” he begins in a whisper. “I could’ve gone and brought you back if I wanted to. But I didn’t. Because I trusted you enough to take care of yourself and him. But it’s out of your hands now. Out of _our_ hands. All we can do is watch and wait.”

“Wait? For what?” you question. “Wait for them to keep him strapped down for the rest of his life? Pick at his brain and drive him into the ground like before? Or, even worse. Turn him into the Winter Soldier again for their own gain. No. I don’t think so. I won’t have it. No matter what bullshit evidence they think they have, he didn’t do this.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“The timeline doesn’t add up. On the day of the bombing, he was in Bucharest. He showed up after I had heard the news. And I don’t know about you, but going from Bucharest to Vienna back to Bucharest again isn’t a fifteen-minute walk. And he wouldn’t risk blatantly showing his face when the entire world knows his name. And why, after all this time, would he bomb the UN? He got too bored of living a mediocre life and wanted some excitement? No, I don't think so. So don’t stand there and try to tell me that he did this with that uncertain look in your eyes. Put his past behind him, Tony. He’s not the same person anymore.”

You push past him and go sit in one of the offices to cool down. You plop down on the couch and rub your forehead. You don’t think your heart has stopped racing since going back to the apartment after hearing an explosion. For nearly two hours you’ve been on edge without a break, scared out of your mind for Bucky. You couldn’t give two shits about yourself. In your world, Bucky will always be put first.

You shift around uncomfortably as your stomach swirls anxiously. Groaning, you lean forward and pour yourself a glass of water from the table, your hands still shaky as you bring the glass to your lips. Your heart drops when you feel the colour drain from your face. You set the glass down and keel over between your legs. You cover your mouth, and breathe deeply. You manage to keep the vomit down, but you can’t get rid of the dizziness. You carefully lay down on your back, and soothingly rub your tummy in circles,.

“You’re looking a little worse for wear.”

Groaning in displeasure, you lock eyes with Natasha as she sits down across from you. Laughing without humour, you lick your lips.

“Yeah, uh. I–I guess the adrenaline was too much for my body,” you surmise. “I haven’t done something like that in a while.”

“’That’ being evading the government and participating in an irresponsible car chase?” she clarifies.

“Tch, yeah,” you say. “Something like that.”

You’re half-expecting Natasha to give you an earful, just like Tony did. But she just sits there, legs crossed, eyes full of concern. It unsettles you.

“If you have something to say, then just say it,” you exhale. “I got most of the rundown from Tony. Might as well be ridiculed and reprimanded in Act Two. So, go on. Spit it out.”

“How are you feeling?”

That is certainly not what you were expecting to hear. Let alone in that soft tone. You raise a brow at her, then go back to staring at the ceiling.

“Awful, actually,” you reply honestly. “But also angry as hell. This wave of wooziness will pass soon enough. But the looming threat of what’ll happen to him won’t go away so easily. He didn’t do this. And I stand by that. I was with him, and no one else. He was gone, and then he came back. He didn’t disappear just to ruin the signing of the Accords. And I’m not signing that, by the way. He doesn’t want to start a war. We all know that. It’s convincing the government that’s the real hurdle. Knowing them, they’d gladly tear us apart before trying to prove his innocence. So to hell with their so-called psychological evaluation. They don’t care about him. They just care about what they can do _to_ him.”

You hear Natasha sigh, which makes you click your tongue.

“Look at that. You got me monologuing.” You sit up in your seat, still holding your stomach, and look her in the eyes. “I’m not making any promises. If they cross a line, believe me, I’ll have something to say about it.”

You take another sip of your water before standing up to join Steve and Sam in the main office space in the middle of the control room. Your steps are slow and you’re weary, but you put on a brave face. You don’t want to seem fragile and weak. Since you got picked up you’ve been nothing but menacing and intimidating, and you’d like it to keep it that way.

You sit down in a chair, with both Sam and Steve giving you curious looks. You exhale deeply and close your eyes. Suddenly the lights are too bright, and it messes with your eyes.

“You’re not looking too hot, Spyro,” Sam comments. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” you whisper, swaying yourself side-to-side. “Just… a little drained.” You turn to face them, and Steve is giving you an incredibly disappointed expression. “Please don’t look at me like that,” you beg. “Let bygones be bygones. For his sake. Don’t worry about me.”

Whatever he’s thinking, he doesn’t say. Looks can say a thousand words, and you can imagine the kinds of words he’d like to exchange with you from the look in his eyes. But he’s still oh-so-polite and decides to keep his mouth shut this time around. You keep your eyes glued to the screen showing Bucky still inside his prison pod, his arms still restrained. His evaluator sits down at a table in front of him. You can’t hear anything, unfortunately. Sharon walks in then, and hands Sam a piece of paper.

“The receipt for your gear.”

“’Bird costume’? Come on.”

“I didn’t write it.”

She looks around before pressing a button on the table which stops the restriction on the audio from Bucky’s evaluation. All of you pretend you still can’t hear what’s going on in that cell. Even though you couldn’t hear him before, your eyes are still on the screen.

“I’m not here to judge you,” his evaluator says. “I just want to ask you a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?” Bucky remains silent, looking uncomfortable in his personal, portable cell. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, James.”

“My name is Bucky,” he finally says.

“He sounds funny,” you say aloud. “Familiar.” You don’t receive a response from anyone in the room. You sigh annoyingly, but continue to listen in. Steve picks up a photo of surveillance footage of Bucky supposedly fleeing the scene, and studies it.

“Why would the Task Force release this photo to begin with?”

“Get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can?” Sharon guesses.

“Right. It’s a good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. Get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier.”

“You’re saying someone framed him to find him.”

“Steve, we looked for the guy for two years and found nothing,” Sam smoothly lies.

“We didn’t bomb the UN,” Steve counters. “That turns a lot of heads.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t guarantee that whoever framed him would get him,” Sharon says. “It guarantees that we would.” Her eyes narrow as her gaze falls upon the screen.

“Yeah,” Steve frowns.

You get out of your seat as the sudden realization sets in. You swallow down your nausea and step closer to the monitor. Dread fills your eyes as you lock eyes with Steve.

“We need to get him out of there. This isn’t right.”

“Tell me, Bucky. You’ve seen a great deal, haven’t you?” Bucky’s evaluator continues his session. It only makes your heart beat uncomfortably faster.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Bucky says.

“You fear that–if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. Don’t worry. We only have to talk about one.”

A few moments later, the bunker lights go out. The emergency lights come on, but there’s no visuals from any of the cameras. You feel like throwing up again.

“Sub-level five, east wing,” you hear Sharon say. Steve and Sam bolt out of the room, but you stay and finally projectile in a trash can in the corner of the office. Sharon helps you get on your feet, and you cling to the table for support.

“Sorry,” you mumble, wiping the back of your mouth. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I feel better now after that. Just–get me to him.”

Sharon leads you out of the room, beckoning Tony and Natasha to follow. She leads you down the building to the main floor. You, Sharon, and Natasha hide behind different pillars while Tony makes his move. You watch Bucky batter every guard that comes his way.

_What the hell happened to him?_

You watch Tony zap Bucky with a stun-burst from his Iron Man glove. Tony fires a second time and Bucky ducks out of the way. They trade blows before Bucky points a gun at Tony; the blast goes off Tony’s glove, then Bucky smacks him backwards. Sharon and Natasha both rush Bucky, landing kicks and punches, but he sends Sharon flying and has his hands around Natasha’s throat. That’s when you run and jump on his back, wrapping your arm around his neck.

“Bucky! Bucky, stop! This isn’t you! You gotta–“

He puts an iron grip on your arm and flings you around off his back. You quickly wrap your legs around his waist and force him to the floor. You sit on his abdomen and pin his hands on either side of his head.

“Snap out of it!” you yell. “Look at me! Stop this, Bucky! Before you hurt someone!”

He doesn’t hear you; he just looks through you. He doesn’t take your words into consideration at all, and doesn’t recognize you. All he does is head-butt you to get you off of him. You roll on your side in pain, to which he trades places with you. He swings his leg over your torso and raises his metal fist in the air while choking you with the other. He’s about to land the blow when T’Challa comes out of nowhere and kicks him off of you. While you catch your breath, you watch Bucky and T’Challa fight with each other, going back up the stairs.

“Shit.”

You pick yourself off the floor and stumble outside. The staff flee from the building en masse. Miraculously, you spot Sam among them. You go up to him, hanging on his arm.

“What happened, Sam?”

“I don’t know,” he replies. “But whoever that guy was, he was definitely not a psychologist.”

“Tch, yeah, no shit,” you scoff.

You shake your head, and place your hands on your thighs. That head-butt really knocked some sense out of you, and added a headache to boot. You don’t understand why Bucky suddenly lost his mind and went on a rampage like that. Whatever that psych–whatever that asshole did to Bucky, it really fucked him up.

The two of you prowl the streets for signs of Steve. Sam explained that Steve went after Bucky while he went after the imposter. He doesn’t know where Steve might be. But a few minutes later, Steve contacts Sam about where to meet him. You tag along of course because there’s no way you’re going to be left out of the loop.

You end up at a huge abandoned warehouse, away from the bunker and the public eye. There, Steve asks for Sam’s help to drag Bucky’s unconscious body inside and clamp his metal arm in an industrial vice. You stand back and cover your mouth at the state he’s in. He’s bleeding from his head, and he’s soaking wet.

“What the hell happened?”

“He tried to take off in a helicopter,” Steve explains, wiping his face. “I forced him to crash it and we fell into the river.”

“Goddamn.”

You cross your hands behind your head at the situation in front of you. Bucky just went ham on everyone that tried to stop him. But the only question is: why? Why did he suddenly lose himself and charge through the building without a thought or care in the world? Just what in the hell did the imposter do to him?

“Fuck. Just–ugghh. This isn’t happening.”

You let your arms flop to your sides and storm out of the room, opting to stand by the door and keep watch for any onlookers. You chew your cheek as you think of the possibilities about how this could have happened. You don’t get much time alone because Steve approaches you seconds later.

“He let himself go,” you say to him in disbelief. “He just–he really just did that, didn’t he?” Steve sighs, and can only nod. “How? _Why_? He was doing so well. He didn’t have any incidents while he was with me I–I just don’t get it.”

“We’ll find out when he wakes up,” Steve says coolly. “He’s alright for now, _______. All we can do now is wait.”

You accept his answer, even though you don’t like it. You and Steve keep watch together while Sam keeps an eye on Bucky. And half an hour later, Sam calls to you two. You round the corner again, and see Bucky examining his trapped arm in the vice. Bucky looks up.

“Steve,” he whispers.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” Steve asks.

Bucky pauses before answering. “Your mom’s name was Sarah… you used to wear newspapers in your shoes.” He chuckles at the end.

“Can’t read that in a museum,” Steve smiles.

“Just like that, we’re supposed to be cool?” Sam comments, completely unconvinced. He might have had beef with Bucky before, but looking at him now, it makes Sam uneasy about the whole thing.

“What did I do?” Bucky asks, definitely beating himself up about it.

“Enough,” Steve says.

“Bucky,” you speak up, taking a step forward. “What happened in there? What did he do to you?”

“Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there,” he explains. “All he had to do was say the goddamn words.”

“But that’s impossible. Vision he–he took that away from you. Those trigger words shouldn’t affect you anymore.”

“…I guess forgetting them isn’t the same thing as taking away the programming.”

You smack your lips together and nod your head as you try to piece this together. Anger boils inside you and you start backing away.

“I’m going toooo fucking kill him,” you decide. “I’m going to blow him to bits.”

“Whoa whoa whoa.” Sam grabs your arm to keep you still. “You’ll get your chance, hothead. Simmer down.”

You take Sam’s advice in stride and nod. You turn back around, your arms crossed, your head still pounding.

“Who was he?” Steve asks.

“I don’t know.”

“People are dead. The bombing, the setup. The doctor did all that just to get ten minutes with you. I need you to do better than ‘I don’t know’.”

“He wanted to know about Siberia… where I was kept. He wanted to know exactly where.”

“Why would he need to know that?”

“Because I’m not the only Winter Soldier.”

The three of you exchange looks at Bucky’s words. Really? He’s not the only one? You understand the advantage of having brainwashed super soldiers at your disposal, but you thought that Bucky would have been enough. But nothing ever is. Deeming him safe to himself and others, Steve removes the vice from Bucky’s metal arm. He then stands back to ask more questions.

“Who were they?” Steve asks.

“Their most elite death squad,” Bucky says. “More kills than anyone in HYDRA history. And that was before the serum.”

“They all turn out like you?” Sam questions.

“Worse.”

“The doctor, could he control them?”

“Enough.”

“Said he wanted to see an empire fall...”

“With these guys he could do it. They speak thirty languages, can hide in plain sight, infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize. They can take a whole country down in one night and you’d never see them coming.”

You rub your temple and sigh annoyingly. This just got a whole lot more complicated. You hear Sam and Steve speak to each other, but your eyes and ears are on Bucky. He clasps his hands together and bows his head. You approach him and kneel at his feet. Silently, you lift his chin with your hand and give him a small smile. He can’t even manage to return one. He stares at your face as you examine the wound on the side of his head. You meet his eyes, and put your thumb over his lips when he’s about to speak.

“Come on,” you say, standing up. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

* * *

Hours later, you, Steve, Sam, and Bucky are all squished into an old and tiny Volkswagen Beetle, meeting Sharon under an overpass. The car ride was extensively quiet, and you got the vibe that Sam still doesn’t exactly favour Bucky. You know they’ve had their fights and disagreements, but you also know that Sam wouldn’t turn on Bucky. Sam isn’t exactly Bucky’s friend, but Steve is. And he trusts his judgment.

You’re settled behind Steve’s seat in the car, supporting your face on your fist, and staring out the window. You don’t know how long it’s been since you haven’t spoken with Sam and Bucky in the same room before. And given the fact that Steve doesn’t have the radio on, it’s all sorts of awkward. However, Bucky momentarily breaks the silence to ask Sam a question.

“Can you move your seat up?” 

“No.”

As small as that interaction was, it was funny as hell. It makes you snort and cover your mouth. You don’t look at either of them, but Bucky shifts his weight over until he’s pushed up right against you. That just makes you smile even more. As funny as it is, you just want to get on with it already. You decide to pick up the pace by getting out of the car to haul Sam and Steve’s gear into the trunk of the Beetle, along with yours. You raise an amused brow by what you see.

“Keep it PG, guys,” you comment as you grab Steve’s shield from Sharon’s trunk. You snicker to yourself as they pull away from each other. You pop the trunk hood of Steve’s car and plop his shield inside before going for Sam’s wings. Steve helps you by getting the rest, to which you swiftly thank him.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says to you, leaning against the bumper. “You don’t need to get caught up in all of this.”

“Oh, I’m doing this,” you counter, hanging onto the top of the trunk hood. “They’re not going to get him. Not again. He doesn’t deserve this constant bullshit of being blamed for everything. And I’m going to make sure that he gets away. For good. Fuck the goddamn government, and everyone that–“

You get cut short by a wave of nausea, and immediately projectile onto the road. Steve stands back from his initial shock before rubbing circles on your back. You grip his forearm for support and spit out the last of your vomit.

“Are you okay, _______?” he asks, concerned.

“I’m fine,” you grit through your teeth. “I just–I guess I caught a bug or something. But I am _fine_. Don’t think that this is gonna change my mind.”

“But what if–“

“No, no. No buts. Let me do this. Otherwise I’ll regret it.”

“What’s taking so long back there?” Sam calls out the window.

“We’re done,” you call back before Steve can say anything. You straighten yourself out and slam the trunk shut. Giving Steve one last pleading look, you slip back into the car and pretend everything is fine. Despite being sick, it’s not going to stop you from protecting Bucky ‘til the very end.

* * *

 

The final destination was the Leipzig/Halle airport in Saxony. There, you met up with Wanda (to which you were very excited), Clint (to which you were pleased to meet), and a new face, Scott Lang (to which you owed the pleasure and enjoyed his interaction with Steve). After a brief rundown to explain to Scott about what he was risking, you all suited up and split into small teams around the airport. Sam with Bucky, Wanda with Clint, Scott with Steve, and you by yourself. You mostly wanted to keep the fire outbreaks to a minimum for the surrounding area. Shit _will_ be going down; you want to keep it from getting out of hand. But considering what’s being fought for today, nothing is guaranteed.

Now, you wait quietly in your spot in the parking deck for all hell to break loose. One by one, everyone meant to stop Steve appears: Tony, Rhodey, Natasha, T’Challa, and some guy in a red and blue suit you’ve never seen before. You listen over coms what they have to say to Steve. You scoff at the whole thing. Nobody understands, because they don’t want to. Steve is being reasonable, and Tony just backs him into a corner, giving him the choice of coming quietly or having some J-SOC guys take over. You adjust your mask, making sure it’s secure. The moment you put on your suit you’ve never felt better. It’s so familiar and comforting and safe. You feel like you can do anything. The power in your strut is testament to that. Taking a deep breath, you shift your focus on the ground, waiting for the inevitable.

The scene writes itself after that. The fight finally breaks out. Clint and Wanda immediately start running down the garage towards the exit to make for the ground. You watch on in anxiety, and desperately try not to laugh. This is obviously not a laughing matter, but seeing everything unfold and what everyone does would constitute a laugh. Nonetheless, you keep your mouth shut and your eyes peeled. You’re quickly thrown off-balance when Wanda starts throwing cars at Tony. Amping up the attack, you set the cars on fire. This is a battle, and everything goes. Whatever tactics needed to make sure Steve and Bucky make it out of here is fair game. You walk towards the ledge and see them in all in a pile, presumably with Tony buried beneath it. You lock eyes with Wanda and nod, then promptly jump from the ledge as she carries you to the ground.

“Don’t you think that was a bit harsh?” Clint asks you.

“Not one bit,” you say confidently. You offer zero help to Tony and instead control the explosions and flames coming from different areas of the airport. God forbid an airplane blows up and sends pieces flying. It’s bad enough that this fight is happening at an _airport_ , but you don’t need a lawsuit on your hands.

“You two go,” you say to Wanda and Clint. “I got this under control.”

They do so without hesitating and let you deal with the fires from Tony’s missiles. Soon enough, Tony shoots up from under the burning pile of cars and into the air. He turns towards you, and you just give him the dirtiest look you can muster.

“I expected more from you, kid,” he says.

“And I expected some common decency,” you retort, facing him now. “Guess we’re both disappointments.”

It’s gotten easier to store and build heat inside your body during a small period of time so you don’t have to wait to increase the temperature. Practice makes perfect, and it definitely pays off. You release a rapid wave of scorching flames in Tony’s direction, and he barely has time to react. You don’t waste any time and run towards Steve to aid in any way you can. Tony has his aim set on you now, but Wanda easily thwarts him for you. You smirk under your mask and keep running.

Out of nowhere, a truck explodes in front of Rhodey and sends him to the ground. Clint points out the Quinjet in the hangar, and every last one of you heads in that direction. Tony rejoins Natasha and Rhodey along with T’Challa. The red and blue boy makes his way around, as well. Suddenly, a fizzing stream of energy slices across the runway and you all stop. Vision hovers overhead, and addresses Steve.

“Captain Rogers. I know you believe what you’re doing is right. But for the collective good, you must surrender now.”

Tony and his team line up with Vision when he descends to the ground. You think about how cliché this scene is, but shove it out of the way to stay focused. Focused on the objective, and not on the fact about how incredibly hangry you are.

“What do we do, Cap?” Sam asks.

“We fight,” is Steve’s reply.

“Just try and catch these hands,” you throw in. You all sprint at each other then, with you and Clint taking on Vision. Three long-range fighters should be fairly matched. Vision has a lot in his arsenal, as do you and Clint, but Vision can easily overpower you two. You ignore everyone else around you to concentrate on Vision. If he had done what he was told, none of this would be happening. Bucky wouldn’t have gone on a rampage and have the entire world looking to kill him on the spot. That gemstone in his forehead is a real pain in the ass, but you manage to fight him off, even when Clint goes hand-to-hand with Natasha.

Vision leads you away from everyone else to avoid having a huge mess afterwards, and to prevent you from getting in their way. You ward off another one of his energy blasts and point a finger at him.

“You promised me that you extracted those words from Bucky’s mind,” you shout at him. “Why didn’t it work? Why is he still affected by HYDRA?!”

“I _did_ do what you instructed, _______,” he answers, lowering himself to the ground again. “I removed Mr. Barnes’ trigger words from his mind so he would forget them.”

“Then why did he turn into the Winter Soldier when that imposter read him the words?! Surely you could have seen that within his mind. You were in there long enough!”

“I simply wanted to fulfill your wishes, and nothing more. He is human, after all. Artificial beings are easier to work with.”

You scream in anger and stomp your foot on the ground from his responses. “How could you not take away his programming when you saw it? How could you leave him vulnerable like that, knowing full well what he would do if he was triggered?!”

“Because. You had asked me to undo his programming, but I was unsuccessful. In hindsight, I am not confident that it would have worked if I was able to perform the task.”

“God… dammit!”

You’re boiling with rage. Fire shoots out of your fists, your feet, and from your back. You could burn Vision to death if he could die. A little heat won’t do a damn thing to him. But you’re not here to kill anyone; you’re here to stall and distract so Bucky can get out of here in time. None of this is worth it if you can’t manage that.

“We gotta go,” you hear Bucky say over comms. “That guy’s probably in Siberia by now.”

“We gotta draw out the flyers,” Steve says. “I’ll take Vision. You get to the jet.”

“I got him, Steve,” you hiss, still unbearably furious. “You guys need to get out of here!”

“As much as I hate to admit it, if we’re gonna win this one, some of us might have to lose it,” Clint chimes in.

“This isn’t the real fight,” Sam says.

“Alright, Sam, what’s the play?”

“We need a diversion. Something big.”

“I got something kind of big,” Scott pipes up. “But I can’t hold it very long. On my signal, run like hell. And if I tear myself in half… don’t come back for me.”

“He’s gonna tear himself in half?”

“You’re sure about this, Scott?”

“I do it all the time. I mean once… in a lab. Then I passed out.”

It’s now or never. You regretfully turn away from Vision to look out for the signal. You need to see that Bucky and Steve get to the Quinjet in one piece. You begin jogging, eyes flitting left and right. You hear a small scream, and then Scott appears, growing into a towering giant and grabs onto Rhodey’s leg. Your eyes widen in disbelief, and allow yourself to laugh. It’s all you can do when you see a man grow to the size of over sixty feet in a second.

“Holy shit!”

Sam and Scott take on Rhodey and Tony in the air, while Clint handles T’Challa when he chases Steve and Bucky. After a brief altercation, T’Challa kicks Clint away and resumes his course. You follow him, intent on stopping him from getting to them. King or not, he’s not laying one paw on Bucky. You have to slow him down, at the very least.

You launch a fireball at his head, and that’s enough to grab his attention. You run full force at him, covering your entire body in flames in hopes of getting the upper-hand. But T’Challa does not fuck around. He throws punches so quickly you hardly have time to react. But Natasha’s training serves you well in warding him off. You land some kicks to his abdomen and punches to his mask, but it’s not enough. He claws at your arm and leg before picking you up and tossing you a few meters away, then charges the hangar.

Wanda comes up to you then, making sure you’re okay. You thank her for her help as you sit up on your knees. Up above, Vision fires another energy beam from his gem and the control tower collapses towards the entrance of the hangar. Wanda slows the collapse, but she’s struggling to keep it up. You look behind her and your face flushes as Rhodey fires a sonic disruptor at her–and consequently–you. You both scream in pain and hold your heads. You force your eyes open, and see that the collapsed tower has fallen to the ground. You hope to god they made it in time.

Rhodey stops once he sees the hangar entrance blocked off, giving you and Wanda sweet relief. You both catch your breath, and watch on as the unknown member of Tony’s team swings himself around Scott’s legs while Tony and Rhodey land blows together, forcing Scott to topple over and slam onto the ground, forcing him to reduce to his normal size.

You roll over on your back to catch your breath. In the distance, you hear the roar of engines. Supporting yourself on your elbows, you look up and see the Quinjet ascending into the sky. You smile widely and throw a fist in the air.

“Go get ‘em, love.”

* * *

 

Everything was very simple after that.

For Tony, at least.

You, Clint, Wanda, Sam, and Scott were apprehended by more than just the local authorities. Tony called in the biggest of guns, and you were all swiftly held at gunpoint before being arrested–and not gently. You were grabbed and manhandled and you really _really_ wanted burn some of these guys to death, but they just would’ve shot you. So, you mustered all the self-control you had left to keep your snippy mouth shut and your fire inside.

After that, you were transferred to a maximum-security prison in the middle of the ocean called The Raft. There was no time for formalities or the law. In this case, none of you were innocent until proven guilty. From beginning until end, you all chose to break the law, no matter the reason. But to hell with the law and reasoning and ethics. This was all done to save Bucky, and prevent some maniac from letting more insane assassinators set loose on the world.

The helicopter ride was less than graceful, what with the heavy rain and stormy waters. It did nothing to ease your growing stomach pains and everlasting nausea. You nearly fainted in your seat, but you forced yourself to stay awake. You didn’t know what kind of bug you caught, but whatever it was, it was really kicking your ass.

Once again, everyone’s suits were taken away and you were given blue prisoner uniforms before being processed and marched into individual cells. You and Wanda were given shock collars and had your hands and feet bound together as an extra precaution. All you can do is spout fire, and you doubt it would do any good. But Wanda? She could do anything.

You finish off your dinner and push the tray away before laying down in your cot. You’re given meals in the morning and at night, with them being unsightly and tasteless. Typical prison food. You’re given no sense of privacy, but you weren’t expecting any. Not with these glass walls giving everyone a peek into your cell. But at least you can sort of see Clint from where you are. And because of your bodily problems from before, nothing is comfortable. Sitting, standing, even laying down. You’re feeling every kind of emotion at once, and you know that nausea will come back with a vengeance. Until then, you force yourself to take a nap, no matter how uncomfortable you are. You’re exhausted, anyhow. As soon as you close your eyes, you should fall asleep within minutes.

But a few hours later, you’re rudely awoken by a visitor.

Tony.

There’s no message relayed over the P.A. system. They don’t care enough to give prisoners such an announcement. Instead, you hear Clint clapping his hands, and sounding sarcastic.

“The Futurist, gentlemen! The Futurist is here! He sees all! He knows what’s best for you, whether you like it or not.”

You listen in to their conversation, watching Tony stride around with his arm in a sling. Your mouth drops in surprise when Tony mentions Clint’s family to make him feel guilty, and about why he didn’t think of them before choosing the wrong side.

“You gotta watch your back with this guy,” Clint says, slamming his hands on the bars. “There’s a chance he’s gonna break it.”

_Bet Wanda could do that any time she’d like._

You stop listening when he walks over to Sam. You know Sam feels horrible about what happened to Rhodey, but it wasn’t his fault. Vision had bad aim, and Rhodey had bad luck. Everything has come full circle. And as soon as Tony came, just like that, he was gone. To where? You didn’t know, and you didn’t care. All you want is to just get through the night without having a raging headache and an upset stomach. Nothing satisfies your hunger, and you’re still baffled as to why you’re this hungry anyway.

The only thing to do now, is wait. Wait for your next meal, wait for lights out, wait for the glimmer of hope that you and everyone else will be saved from this floating, toxic hell. But you have little faith in that. You don’t have the slightest clue as to what’s going on with Steve and Bucky right now, but whatever it is, it’ll be the thought that will keep you awake at night. And every other night you spend in this prison.

You never saw this coming. The thought of being jailed for rescuing people never occurred to you. But you figure you rescued the wrong person. The one that needs the most rescuing, in fact.

You know that Bucky never wanted this life. No one asks to be captured by a Nazi organization and brainwashed for decades upon decades to commit atrocities and terrorize the world. All he wanted to do was serve his country and fight the bad guys. Settle down, maybe have a few kids. Then share and create new memories with his best friend who’s too stupid to run away from a fight.

Neither of them got their happy ending.

And neither did you. Ideally, you would have liked to remain friends with everyone, but take on a life of your own. Keep up with your photography periodically, move to the city, and stay in contact with Bucky. If only he could show his face to the world without repercussions; then you might have had a small chance at a shot of a happily ever after.

Unfortunately, life is never _that_ kind.

You wonder about your family at home, your friends at work. You wonder if they think about you everyday; if they have a clue as to why you haven’t contacted them in over a year. You wonder if they’re scared out of their minds or if they’ve forgotten you altogether or if they know what you’ve been doing this whole time. The charade has to be let up some time. You’ve unwillingly shown your face to that pipsqueak Everett Ross and his entire Task Force team, not to mention that things like this hardly remain private. Just look at what happened to Wanda in Lagos. They plastered her face on all the news stations like she was another common criminal. She has a special power that no one can comprehend other than herself. She’s been through hell and back, but no one ever cares about a criminal’s past. Not anymore.

Your head swirls with possibilities and lives left unlived as you lay in your cell, staring at the ceiling. You can’t tell time in the Raft. No windows to the outside world, but it probably wouldn’t be a big help anyway, being in the ocean and all. But knowing what day it is might make you a little less irritable and keep you from going crazy. But everyone has their limits.

For no reason at all, tears begin to form in your eyes, and it’s not from the bright fluorescents. You keep your sobs to a minimum to not be a nuisance to Sam, Clint, Wanda, and Scott. No one likes a crier, especially not in prison. Everything just hits you all at once: Bucky, Steve, your family, your friends, your life, Marko, your mistakes, the choices you’ve made. It all comes crashing down and breaks you apart bit by bit. You would cover your mouth, but they’re strapped to your sides. So instead, you bite your bottom lip to stop your whimpers from escaping.

It’s embarrassing and invasive enough to have the guards stalking your cells and watching your every move, but even more so when they catch you crying. But it doesn’t matter now. You always feel better after having a big cry, so you might as well get it over with. You cry about missing Bucky, you cry about what’s going to happen next, and you cry about the future. The only thing that can remotely keep you calm after this is the company of Wanda, Clint, Sam, and Scott. Even though you can’t speak to each other, their presence is enough to remind you that you’re not alone.

An hour passes since you’re crying session. Everything seems quieter, more sound. You feel like you could hear a pin drop because of how silent it is in the Raft. The guards make their daily rounds, and the cameras move in their regular positions. You hear Scott tapping his hands on a stool. None of you have said a word to each other. Neither you nor Wanda have attempted to use your powers. An electroshock in retaliation isn’t exactly the most pleasing sensation; you both know better than that.

It feels like days before something spontaneous happens. You wake up, half-expecting to be dragged out of your cell to be questioned by Thaddeus Ross or his hired help. But you aren’t. None of you are. The morning guards never come in to begin the day. You notice that the cameras have stopped rotating, and the lights flicker. You sit up in your cot, and peer out into the chamber. It suddenly feels eerie, but the person you see is anything but.

Your heart lurches when you see Steve come into the spotlight, with a smirk on his face.

Then, you knew everything was going to be okay.

* * *

You find yourself in Wakanda again, back in the medical facility. T’Challa is there, overseeing the process of having Bucky be put back in cryostasis again. During Steve’s breach of the Raft, you all decided to go separate ways, but stay in touch. You all got your equipment back, and you said your teary goodbyes before going with Steve. It was just you and him on the Quinjet, and he explained to you what happened when he and Bucky made it to Siberia.

Turns out, the man pretending to be a psychologist, Helmut Zemo, didn’t want more Winter Soldiers. All he wanted to do was break apart the Avengers from the inside. Bucky killed Tony’s parents while he was the Winter Soldier and Tony went off on him. Bucky lost his metal arm in the ensuing battle, the small truce between Tony and Steve was torn to shreds, and the Avengers were ultimately finished. It was a lot to take in at the time. You spent the ride wrapping your head around it all. You didn’t know what to feel. Relief, anxiety, anger, sadness… you were feeling everything at once again. It wouldn’t be too long before you crashed and burned. You passed out on the Quinjet from being too overwhelmed until you arrived in Wakanda once more.

There, you learned that Bucky had decided to go under again. It broke your heart. You knew that it was his decision, but you couldn’t help but think about trying to talk him out of it. Help him see that going into cryo would only damage and cripple his body more. But you never opened your mouth. You didn’t mention it to Steve, either. God knows he wants his best friend to be okay, and he hates to see him go away again; but you both knew that this was what was best. And you honoured it.

“You sure about this?” Steve says as the staff prepares for Bucky to enter cryo. Bucky sits on a table in a simple tank and sweats, what’s left of his metal arm covered up with a pad.

“I can’t trust my own mind,” Bucky replies, gracing you two with one last smile. “So, until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head, I think going back under is the best thing… for everybody.”

You can’t help the tears that fall down your cheeks. You quickly wipe them away, not wanting Bucky to remember that image of you before going to sleep. You step forward and place a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Can we have a minute?” you ask quietly.

“’Course.”

Steve gives your arm an encouraging squeeze before leaving the room with T’Challa. The medical personnel stay to continue their work. You walk up to Bucky, holding your arm in anticipation. Even though you’re not crying, you’ve seen better days. Your hair is a greasy crow’s nest, there’s certainly bags under your eyes, your face is oily, and your lips are dry. Not exactly how you wanted to look when saying goodbye, but it’s chance enough to even be saying goodbye at all. At least for now.

“Hey,” you start, trying not to sound too choked up.

“Hi,” he returns softly.

“I, uh–” you clear your throat before raising your chin to lock gazes with him, “I’m so sorry. I’m so so _so_ sorry. I thought it would work. I thought if I–if I helped you save you from yourself, you would have a better life. But I just screwed it up even more. I’m sorry. For everything.” You momentarily pause to recollect yourself before continuing on, in a calmer manner. “I want you to know that I love you, I support your decision, and I’ll see you when you come back. Knowing these guys, you’ll be back within a week.”

You offer a smile, but your lips betray you and it turns into a quiver. You bite your lip and refuse to break eye contact with him. You’re going to see this through to the end, no matter how emotional you get. He nods his head, and pulls you to him. You cradle his head in your arms, threading your fingers through his hair. You’re going to miss him. The way he smells, how soothing it is to play with his hair, his smile, his reserved personality… everything. It’ll be a hard road, but you’re glad that he’ll be safe in the most isolated country in the world. You’ll have Steve and Sam in the meantime, which is no downgrade. They’ll certainly be more than enough to keep you rational and balanced. And to make you laugh.

You reluctantly pull away, allowing him to stand. He stares at the cryo tank behind you, to which you turn around to do the same. Sighing, you squeeze his flesh hand and lay your head against his chest.

“It’ll be alright,” you say more to yourself than him. “It’s only for a little while.”

“Hey.”

You raise your head when he calls for your attention. He gazes into your eyes with those big, beautiful blue eyes of his, then leans down to give you one last kiss. He makes it last as long as he can, but it can’t go on forever. He kisses you so that you’ll remember what it feels like before he has to let you go.

You have to catch your breath when he pulls away. He places his hand on your cheek, memorizing the details of your face. He doesn’t dream in cryo; he doesn’t feel his surroundings or hear anything from the outside world. He’s just… there. Frozen in a tube, protected by the most talented and courageous people in the world. He’ll be just fine.

Finally, he kisses your forehead as a silent goodbye before stepping into the cryo tube. You watch the staff strap him in comfortably, then close the tube just as Bucky closes his eyes. He looks peaceful, now that you see him in there. He’s just a man frozen in time now.

You don’t know if it’s the scene unfolding in front of you, or the sappy emotions creeping up on you again, but you suddenly feel faint. Your eyes flutter and you begin leaning to one side. Your vision begins to blur, and the last thing you see are the medical staff rushing towards you before you black out.

* * *

 

You wake up in a white, sterile room, laying what looks to be like a simple hospital bed. You’re dressed in a white gown, but not hooked up to the machines. You were just resting. As you sit up, your head whirls painfully. You dig the heel of your palm into your temple, grunting in frustration.

Just then, a doctor walks in. She gives you a kind smile, and scrolls through her clearly advanced electronic clipboard.

“Welcome back,” she says. “How’re you feeling?”

“Alright, I guess,” you respond. “What happened?”

“You fainted,” she explains. “Your blood pressure spiked. You may have hit your head when you fell.”

“Well, that explains the throbbing.” You massage your head some more to try and soothe the pain. “Do you know why my blood pressure spiked like that? I’ve been feeling a little sick lately. Is it because of that?”

“It’s common for someone in your condition,” she explains, scrolling once more. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Someone in my ‘condition’?” you repeat. “What do you mean?”

The doctor squints at you curiously. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

* * *

After being discharged, showering, and taking some ibuprofen, you stand in a skywalk, watching the sunset. Wakanda really is a beautiful place, the sunsets being one of its best assets. The sky is painted with orange and yellow, the sun a bright red orb descending upon the horizon. It’s a peaceful moment as you’re left alone with your thoughts. But you’re not alone for long.

Steve approaches you silently, standing beside you to watch the sunset as well. You asked for him to meet you here to… talk about things. He watches the city come to life with a fond smile on his face. Casting you a glance, he breaks the silence first.

“He’s gonna be okay, _______,” he tells you. “They’ll figure something out. These are the most gifted people in the world. Helping him will be like doing a crossword puzzle in the paper. Sure, it’ll be difficult getting–“

“Steve.”

“–used to him being gone, but it won’t be forever. You’ll have me and Sam and–“

“Steve.”

You cut him off with a firm, yet soft call of his name. He looks down at you, and gives you his full, undivided attention. Your expression has him worried, and he can see your eyes become glassy.

“What is it, _______?”

You blink once to let the hot tears fall, lowering your head. You take a second to recollect yourself, then jerk your chin up to continue viewing the dying sunset fiercely.

“I’m pregnant.”


	19. Epilogue

It took some time to fully comprehend that Bucky wouldn’t be with you every step of the way with your pregnancy. It was a surprise in itself that you were pregnant at all. You two weren’t exactly being safe, but you knew that a pregnancy didn’t usually occur during the first consummation. But the nausea and mood swings and constant hunger were the obvious indicators that you  _were_  pregnant. You didn’t know why you didn’t think of it.

With permission from T’Challa and the Tribal Council, you were permitted to stay in Wakanda for the duration of your pregnancy. You were aware that they didn’t like outsiders, and made it a clear point that you wouldn’t mind leaving Wakanda if that’s what they wished. But T’Challa vouched for you–despite your previous altercations–and allowed you to stay. You were grateful for his hospitality, and didn’t want to be useless. You didn’t have much to offer in the most technologically advanced country in the world, but you convinced T’Challa to give you something to do so you wouldn’t go crazy from not doing anything while pregnant.

You were no assassin, and you weren’t going to take up any jobs that involved risking your life–not while you were growing another. T’Challa would never suggest such a kind of job to you, since it wasn’t your style and he was positive you were done with that kind of life (for the time being). So, he positioned you where he knew you would enjoy it, and where the people around you would tolerate your presence.

Shuri’s lab.

T’Challa had set up a Wakandan international outreach centre in California, and left Shuri in charge of the science and information exchange, while a lovely woman named Nakia would oversee the social outreach. Your part in all of this was to help Shuri test her new inventions before she would send them to the outreach centre. The thought of being able to assist the most brilliant mind in the world was an honour in itself. You had a lot of fun testing her inventions, and Shuri herself had even more fun when you were blown back or shoved to the side. The videos themselves would be some of the funniest vines ever.

At first you thought that you would receive some hostility from the citizens for being in their country that no one else was supposed to know about, but ever since T’Challa made a statement at the U.N. about sharing Wakanda’s resources and knowledge with the rest of the world, you figured they would spare you the waste of breath. That, or they actually found you pleasant.

You were also given Kimoyo beads as a means of communication and accessing the internet, along with medical knowledge and updates on your fetus. With permission from T’Challa (to which you actually didn’t need anymore but nonetheless felt the need to), you were able to contact your friends and family, and update them on everything. What you were really doing, who you really were, and  _where_  you staying. The news came as a bombshell to everyone (besides Maeve), as you expected. It wasn’t everyday that someone is told their friend or sibling had been operating with the Avengers and possessed the power of pyrokinesis. You left out the parts about Bucky and your pregnancy, of course. You were sure that letting them know who the father of your baby was wouldn’t go down that smoothly. The important thing was that your loved ones were safe, and they were glad you were as well. You informed them you wouldn’t be returning for a while, for reasons you couldn’t give. And they would have to settle for that.

A few weeks into your service, Shuri gently brought up Bucky. It had surprised you a little, since you never thought she would be interested in him. But when she said she was working to find a way to essentially “reboot” Bucky while retaining who he is as a person by using an algorithm she created? You began to tear up. You didn’t really understand her scientific jargon, but all you needed to know was that he’d be able to live as a free man, free from HYDRA’s influence–permanently. You trusted Shuri a lot more than Vision this time around, since she’d be using  _real_  technology. And you trusted that technology a lot more than an artificial being that Tony created.

She said she needed some more time to ensure the accuracy of the algorithm before moving forward and bringing Bucky out of cryostasis to perform the procedure, but she assured you it would work. She also asked if you wanted to be present during that time, to which you replied no. You didn’t want to overwhelm him with you yourself  _and_  your pregnancy before he underwent a procedure like that. But you said that you would visit him a few weeks after she extracted his programming, just so he had time to get used to it. Shuri was perfectly fine with that.

It would be a few months before Shuri would make a breakthrough regarding Bucky’s programming. You were five months pregnant, your belly round and prominent. You felt most of what a lot of pregnant women would say about the effects of carrying a child: the food cravings, mood swings, tiredness, aching muscles, peeing a lot more, trouble sleeping, the works. Your Kimoyo beads were more than helpful with recommending methods of how to tackle these side effects efficiently. Shuri was also being wonderful with your pregnancy, maybe even more so than the beads. She was able to handle your cranky behaviour and sluggish attitude on the worse days. She would just shoo you off to bed to get some rest and would let you know when she needed help again. You would always apologize after the fact, since you knew that being pregnant wasn’t an excuse for lashing out and being crusty. But Shuri was an understanding woman. For the remainder of your pregnancy, she essentially put you on desk duty. No overworking, and no participating with testing her newest gadget. You were disappointed, but complied with no objections.

In the meantime, you caught up with Wakanda’s culture and history, immersing yourself in it because literally no one knew about Wakanda’s true nature. The culture, history, clothing, uses of vibranium, the Five Tribes, technology, music. You read all about them and ventured into the city to experience it all. That took about a month and a half of your time, which was also the amount of time in which Shuri was able to complete her algorithm and “reboot” Bucky like she had mentioned. You busied yourself by speaking with the locals while she performed the procedure. When the time was right, you would visit Bucky after he had some time to himself and breathe without the looming threat of a hand floating around his neck, ready to choke the life out of him at any time.

Despite not being present at the procedure, Shuri contacted you and let you know that it was a success. Bucky’s vitals were normal, and there was no damage done to his brain or tissues. It would take some time to see real results, but nevertheless, the procedure was a success, and Bucky was expected to be okay.

For real, this time.

The anticipation to visit him was driving you crazy, so after another month of being restless and cranky, you decided it was time. Your belly was as big as ever at seven and a half months. You were ready to pop out your baby at any given time. Your feet and back were sore all the time, you were still craving insane food combinations, and you wanted to cry every day. Being pregnant wasn’t all glow and parading around in high heels and smiling like you were having the time of your life. No no no. Being pregnant was the constant fear of your ability (or inability) to be a mother, eating until you stopped crying, having a sore  _everything_ , and most of all, longing for your lover.

You didn’t think you would be able to stand not seeing Bucky for so long after he went under again. A lot of the time you were crying about him, for him, wanting to see him. You had the chance when Shuri undid his programming, but you made your decision to keep yourself hidden from him until it was the right time.

And the time is now.

You told Shuri to bring you along when she was going to check on Bucky and his recuperation. She agreed, but warned you that it was a long walk to where he was staying. You accepted that fact, and took it slowly as you both made your way to a part of farmland in Wakanda. You wanted to look your best for when you finally saw Bucky again, but the baggy eyes and wobbly walk wouldn’t be able to fool him, no matter how you dressed. Nevertheless, you managed to pull on a simple white, weightless dress by yourself, and held onto Shuri’s arm for support.

And Shuri wasn’t kidding. The walk was unbearably long, bumpy, and slightly muddy, but the weather was nice enough for you to be able to enjoy it a bit. The scenery was perfect, as always. It was when you two came upon a hill that Shuri stopped.

“He’s just over there,” she said. You could see the top of huts over the hill, Bucky resting in one of them. You licked your lips, and nodded your head.

“You go,” you said. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Okay.”

She gave you an encouraging smile before ascending the hill to visit Bucky. You felt your heart race in your chest, and the tears form in your eyes. Now that you were there, you didn’t know if he even wanted a child. You knew  _you_  did, and you were thrilled, after the initial shock. But you grew to love the feeling of your baby kicking against your stomach and reading bedtime stories and placing headphones over your belly for your baby to hear. It was surreal, but you supposed it was the same for all first-time mothers. But you were ready. You just didn’t know if Bucky was.

But you couldn’t turn back now. You were there, ready to see your beloved again, ready to tell him (or show him) that he was going to be a father.

After you wiped your eyes and took deep breaths, you rubbed your belly in comfort before you walked up the hill, and gazed upon Bucky. You noticed his hair was longer, half of it tied up into a bun. He also wore a red and blue, toga-like garment, with only his flesh arm showing, and was barefoot. He hadn’t seen you yet, since he was still speaking with Shuri. But as soon as she turned to the side to show him he had a visitor, he started. His lips parted, and he took a step back from the surprise. You smiled painfully at him, and began to descend the hill with a hand on your back and the other on your belly.

The closer you got to him, the clearer his expression became. He was crying, but he was smiling. He must’ve been thinking a thousand things at once with how much he knitted his brows together. You were trying not to cry too much, but those damn hormones really knew when to kick in to make a scene that much more emotional. You stood in front of him, your belly ready to burst, your cheeks stained with hot tears. You looked from him to your belly, then up again.

“I, um…” You struggled to find the right words, so you started with a simple greeting. “Hey.”

“Hi,” came his quiet reply. He wanted to say something more, but his voice betrayed him. Thankfully, you had much more to say.

“It’s been a while but… yeah. I’m pregnant,” you began. You casted your eyes downwards to make it easier for yourself. “I’m ready to pop this sucker out any time now. And… it’s yours, Bucky. I found out after you went under. It must have happened while we were in Romania. According to the Kimoyo beads he’s healthy and in a good position and expected to be–“

“Wait,” Bucky interrupted. You closed your mouth, and raised your head as you awaited his response. “You’re… w-we’re… we’re going to have a  _son_?”

“Yes,” you smiled. You began rubbing your belly again. “He’s… I’m–I’m going to keep him, of course. I couldn’t just throw this away when I wanted–“

You got cut off mid-sentence by Bucky cupping your face and kissing you. You held onto his wrist and closed your eyes, keeping your sobs at bay to bask in the feeling of being able to kiss him once more. He was still warm, still comforting, still the same Bucky that went under, but came out a lot more mentally stable. He pulled away and rested his forehead on yours, then slinked his hand down to grasp onto yours. The two of you stayed like that for a solid minute before saying another word to each other.

“So, you’re okay with this?” you asked, still breathless.

“I didn’t think it’d ever happen,” he confessed, opening his eyes. “I never thought I’d get the chance to start over and have a family of my own…” He raised your chin with his finger and smiled tearfully at you. “Of course I’m okay with it. I’m ecstatic. Because of our carelessness, we got a happy accident.”

You chuckled at his little toss of humour, and kissed him again. “It’s probably the only happy accident we’re gonna have, because they’re so rare.”

“Excuse me.”

The two of you turned your attention towards Shuri when she made you remember that she was still there.

“If you two are done putting me through this uncomfortable third-wheel reunion, I’d like to show Bucky more of what he has to learn.”

“Give us a break, Shuri,” you joke. “We haven’t seen each other in forever. Let us have this.”

“Fine,” she said. “Five more minutes.”

“So generous.”

She chuckled and stood off to the side by the river to give you and Bucky some more time alone. You held his hands and brought them to your belly.

“He’s been very active lately,” you said. “Kept me up for a few nights because he wouldn’t stay still.”

Bucky got down on one knee so he was face-to-face with your belly, roaming his hand all over to feel his baby kick. Soon enough, he felt a small pressure push against the palm of his hand. He smiled in disbelief, and waited to feel it again. His smile only grew the second time he felt his son’s foot kick his hand.

“I haven’t thought of a name yet,” you said, admiring how loving Bucky looked while he rubbed your belly. “Got any ideas?”

“Not at the moment, no,” he said. He felt one more kick before all movement stopped. You put your hands over his.

“He knows that his daddy is here,” you grinned. “You’re getting him all worked up.”

“Good,” he said. “’Cause I can’t wait to see him.”

He stood up once more, holding onto your hand. You squeezed his hand happily, then glanced over to Shuri. Sighing, you nodded towards her.

“Time for your lessons,” you said. “Whatever they are.”

Bucky glimpsed over his shoulder, only frowning slightly at Shuri looking expectant. He only got a couple of minutes with you, but it was well worth it. He turned back to you, and gave you a pleasant smile.

“I’ll see you after,” he said, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “I’ll see the  _both_  of you later.”

“And we’ll be waiting,” you said. You reached up and brushed your thumb along his cheek, then let him go to be with Shuri.

Bucky had kept his promise the day you two had reunited: after learning new things with Shuri, he came back to be with you and your baby. The whole time he never left your bedside, cuddling you with his head on your shoulder. You spent the whole night sharing stories of your times in Shuri’s lab, in the city, learning the culture, and Wakanda’s history. You talked and talked and talked until Bucky fell asleep, snuggled into your side, his hand on your belly. You never could have imagined a better picture than that.

But apparently, you could.

No more than a few weeks later, it was time to give birth to your child. You never imagined the amount of pain you’d be in; you had heard stories, of course, but they hardly lived up to the real thing. Shuri had asked you if you wanted to have a comfortable birth, free of pain, but you opposed it. Despite the bone-crushing agony of your contractions, you wanted to experience the birth naturally and free of anesthetics. Then for the next time–if there was one–you would definitely request some epidural.

Bucky was there alongside with you, dressed in a white garment, comforting you the entire way to the medical facility. You were crying in pain, wanting your son out of your belly, and to just hold him. You waited patiently for eight months to grow and nourish your baby, and waited only half a month less to be reunited with Bucky. It was about time that the two of you met your newborn and become a family.

It was a long day. Your water had broken while you were simply walking around with Bucky in hopes of kick-starting the labour. And it certainly helped. You heard the splat of water hit the shiny tile, and realized that you were about to go into labour. You called Shuri using your Kimoyo beads, and no less than a minute later, you were surrounded by the medical team with Bucky at your side.

It was a long, uncomfortable, and hot process. You had been in labour for ten hours; you shit-talked your old boss from when you worked at Subway as a teenager, you complained about your mother being stingy at the most ridiculous things, and you yelled so many profanities it was a wonder how everyone in the room didn’t suddenly have the urge to swear in their sentences. Bucky had a few laughs, but the whole time he was mostly trying to comfort you by letting you squeeze his hand. He couldn’t imagine the pain you were in, but you sure let everyone know just how much the contractions hurt.

But as soon as the doctor mentioned the word “push” in her sentence, you stopped screaming, grabbed the sidebars of your bed and stared her in the eyes, determined to deliver your son as you set your calves in the leg rests. She snapped on her gloves, Bucky stood by your side, and the other nurses got to their stations as the head doctor settled herself between your legs. You slammed your head back against your pillows as she gave you the go-ahead to begin pushing.

It took ten minutes, a lot of encouragement, and sheer willpower to deliver your son. You had a skull-pounding headache, you were sweaty, and most of all, tired. But hearing the small cries of your baby boy washed all of the small frustrations away. Bucky couldn’t keep his eyes off him as he cut the umbilical cord, then as the doctor placed him in your arms. He was covered in amniotic fluid and a little blood and vernix, but other than that, he was beautiful. You cooed at him through your tears, and welcomed him to the world.

“Hey there little guy,” you whispered. You lifted his tiny fist with your finger as he continued to cry. “I’ve been dying to meet you. You had a heck of a time in my belly, didn’t you? Kicking around like there was no tomorrow. Well no more of that. You can roll around as much as you’d like now.” You smiled down at him, before carefully handing him off to Bucky so he could have a private moment with his son. He only had one arm, but he could manage.

Bucky didn’t say anything; all he could do was smile and cry at his newborn son. He was completely speechless. It was all too soon when the nurses had to take your son away to be cleaned up and put into a crib. You held a shaky hand out to Bucky, to which he took gently and leaned down to kiss your head.

“He’s so beautiful,” you said, closing your eyes. “We did good.”

“ _You_  did good,” he corrected, stroking your hair. “All I did was get you pregnant. You had to go through it alone, but at least I got here at the finish line. I’m so proud of you, _______. Go to sleep now. You’ll see him again later.”

“But I don’t want to go to sleep,” you muttered, yawning in the process. “I wanna hold him again…”

“You will,” Bucky chuckled. “He’ll be taken care of. Rest for now. He’s not going anywhere.”

He kept stroking your hair until you fell asleep. But it would only be for two hours before you were awoken once more. Not by the doctor or nurses to check up on you, but by Bucky, standing at the foot of your bed with his back to you. He was holding your son, all swaddled up in his burrito blanket, bouncing smoothly from the knees. Bucky was cooing at him and complimenting his tiny features and kissing his nose. It made your heart swell. He turned around and smiled widely at you. Your eyes widened in disbelief when you saw the brand new metal arm he had.

“Bucky, your–your arm!”

“Yeah,” he smiled, looking down at it. “Guess they figured I’d need two hands to hold my son from now on.” The base was black with a gold lining webbed into it. It was definitely made from vibranium, and looked a hell of a lot better than the one that HYDRA  _graciously_  bestowed upon him. Fascism was not a good look on him.

“Look who’s awake, little man,” Bucky said to his son, bouncing his way over to you. That made you smile more. “Mama is!” He stood next to your bed and handed the baby over to you. You took him gently, and scooted over a bit for Bucky to lie down with you. You laid your head on Bucky’s shoulder, sighing happily.

“Look at his cute little nose,” you said, softly running your finger along your son’s face. “And his little eyes, and his little mouth. His little ears and hair… he’s so soft and has that new baby smell. He’s perfect.”

“He is,” Bucky agreed. He reached out to stroke his son’s cheek with his metal arm. He stirred in his burrito blanket and yawned, making both you and Bucky smile. He opened his eyes, staring in curiosity at the new world he was in.

“Hiiii,” you cooed. “Hey, little guy… Hmmm. We need to give him a name. We can’t keep calling him ‘baby’ and ‘little guy’. Any ideas yet?”

“I’m still too wrapped up in the fact that he’s real,” Bucky confessed, a dreamy look in his eyes. “Do you?”

“One. I’m still not too sure about it, though.”

“What were you thinking?”

“…Sebastian.”

“Sebastian, huh?”

Bucky stared at his son’s face, and considered a few things. Did it sound like a grown-up name? Not really. Could he use cute nicknames for him? Of course. Did he look like a Sebastian? It was too soon to tell, but he definitely could be. And, did the name “Sebastian Barnes” have a nice ring to it? Without a doubt. He beamed the more he thought about it.

“I like it,” he said. “I like it a lot.”

“Really? ‘Cause if you have another name in mind later on then–“

“No, no. I like Sebastian. It suits him.”

“Hmmm… Little Sebastian~” You poked your son’s cheek and tapped his nose to get his attention, and to see if he liked his new name. “Sebastiannn. Little Sebastiannn!” Sebastian all but stared at you, and chewed the top of his blanket. You chuckled at his response. “Guess he doesn’t quite understand words yet.”

“For only a few hours old, I would assume not,” Bucky chortled. “But he’ll learn in a few years. For now, all he has to do is eat and sleep.”

“And have play time, of course,” you added. “And I hope that he’ll have a lot of father-son time too…”

You looked up at Bucky expectantly, to which he smiled in return. He kissed your temple and rubbed your shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” he said gently. “He will. I’ll be here. Now that I am where I am, I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

“You better not,” you warned, shifting your grip on Sebastian. “Or I’ll glue you to a rocking chair and you’ll have nowhere to go.”

“I promise I won’t leave. Ever again. And that’s something I know I’m willing to keep true.”

“It’s okay. I know you will. You deserve this, Bucky. More than anyone else in the world. Learn to cherish each moment. Because before you know it, he’ll be five and then ten and then twenty. Life with a child flies by and you don’t even know it.”

“Trust me, I believe it. I’ll be here for each life achievement he’ll have. His first words, riding a bike, going to school… I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He kissed your cheek then, and you turned your head around to give him a proper, sensual kiss. You scratched his beard contently and held Sebastian higher up for Bucky to admire him.

“I love you, Bucky,” you said. “And I love  _you_ , Sebastian.”

“I love you too, _______,” Bucky returned. “And, of course, you too, Sebastian.”

The three of you laid in bed together for what felt like hours before Sebastian was needed to be taken back to his hospital crib. You sadly gave him back, but held onto Bucky’s arm and watched the nurse wheel your son away once more. You didn’t know what it was, maybe a new motherly instinct, but in that moment, you felt that everything was going to be okay.

And that Bucky was going to be by your side until your dying days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...or did he?
> 
> No, no. We all know that Infinity War didn't happen so Bucky didn't turn to dust and y'all lived happily ever after like it should be.
> 
> Also I was wracking my brain to figure out what to name the baby so I just thought it’d be easy and funny to go with Sebastian :'D


End file.
